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EMORIAL ^JOURNAL, 


GIVING A SHORT SKETCH OF HIS LIFE, FROM HIS CHILDHOOD TO HIS DEATH. 


WITH 

SKETCHES AND PORTRAITS OF ALL THE PRESIDENTS OF THE UNITED STATES, 
FROM PRESIDENT WASHINGTON TO PRESIDENT ARTHUR. 


INCLUDING 

l^oll of] the ^oiuiention which |jfommateil |james ^arficlil, 

AND 

A LIST OF THE SENATORS AND MEMBERS OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES, GOVERNORS, FOREIGN 

MINISTERS, ETC.; ALSO, SKETCHES OF THE PROMINENT MEN OF THE 

TIME, OR THEIR NAMES, ETC. 

WITH 

FORTY STEEL ENGRAVINGS, INCLUDING ONE OF QUEEN VICTORIA, 

BY THE MOST EMINENT ARTISTS OF THE UNITED STATES. 


EDITED AND COMPILED BY 


C. F. DEIHM, 


V * 

EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR OF “ OUR SECOND CENTURY” 


AND “DEIHM’S SAFE JOURNAL.” 



JUN r 1886' 


NEW YORK: 

o. IF 1 . DEIHJVC,: =3* 

27 UNION SQUARE. 

18 82 . 


























1 ) 3 ^ 

(LtrM? 


Copyright, 1881, by C. F. Deihm. 





TO THE AMERICAN PEOPLE. 

IF ANY EVIDENCE WERE AYANTING OF THE SINCERITY OF MIND, THE HONESTY OF PURPOSE, AND 
THE HIGH SENSE OF PUBLIC RESPONSIBILITY WHICH ANIMATED THE CHIEF MAGISTRATE 
AVHOSE DEATH AVE ALL DEPLORE, AND IN HONOR OF AYIIOSE MEMORY THIS VOLUME 
HAS BEEN COMPILED, NONE BETTER COULD BE FOUND THAN IN THE SIGNIFI¬ 
CANT AVORDS,—“0, MY COUNTRY, MY TRUST!”—WHICH AYERE AMONG 
THE LAST OF HIS CHERISHED UTTERANCES. 

TO HIM PARTIES AND SECTIONS AVERE UNKNOAYN. HIS LOFTY MIND SOARED ABOVE THESE, TO 
EMBRACE IN ITS AIMS THE REPUBLIC AS A AYHOLE; AND HENCE THE PROFOUND AND 
UNIVERSAL SORROAV WITH AVHICH HIS LOSS IS REGARDED BY THE COUNTRY. 

TO THE PEOPLE OF THAT COUNTRY, AYHOM HE LOVED SO AYELL, AND OF AVHOSE INTELLIGENCE, 
COURAGE, AND GENEROSITY HE AYAS THE LIVING EMBODIMENT, 

THE E IR, E S E H T VOLUME 



BY THEIR HUMBLE AND OBLIGED FELLOW-COUNTRYWOMAN, 


THE EDITOR 




PREFACE. 


“He is but a man, and seasonable mementos may be useful.”—B acon. 


There are men whose achievements are sufficient in 
themselves to preserve their names ever fresh in the 
minds of their countrymen. 

James Abram Garfield was one of these. His deeds 
and virtues will live in our memories independently of 
monuments of gold or silver, of marble or stone. 

But monuments are not only erected to recall the 
dead to our remembrance. 

How many dear and loved ones have gone before us 
on the long, long journey, whom we can never forget. 
And yet what soothing emotions are kindled in our 
hearts by the possession of the smallest relic of the de¬ 
parted ones ! And how priceless the relic becomes ! 

In this volume, the object of which is sufficiently 
explained by its title, there is offered to every friend 
and admirer of the late President Garfield, and they 
are legion, a souvenir or memento of the deceased, which 
is at once appropriate and ornamental, and, we trust, 
useful and entertaining also. 

It is intended on the day on which President Gar¬ 
field’s term would have expired (4th of March, 1885) 
to place a copy of the book in the “ Century Safe,” at 
the Capitol, which will be opened specially for the pur¬ 
pose. There will be enclosed at the same time the 
biography of the late President, which is being prepared 
under the directions of Mrs. Garfield, and Mr. Bundy’s 
biography of the deceased. 

We have endeavored to make the work interesting to 

O 

all. The contents are of the most diversified character, 

comprising a portrait and brief memoir of President 

1 


Garfield, and a portrait of Mrs. Garfield; a portrait and 
a short biographical notice of Queen Victoria; portraits 
and sketches of all the Presidents of the United States, 
and Secretary Blaine; portraits of our principal living 
poets, besides one of W. C. Bryant, of Chief Justices 
Marshall, Waite, and some of our leading business men; 
roll of the members of the Chicago convention by whom 
Garfield was nominated, list of judges of the Supreme 
Court, cabinet ministers, senators, members of Congress, 
the governors of the several States, and the presidents 
and cashiers of the banks of New York and Philadel¬ 
phia ; sketches of many of our men and women of 
mark; original and other poems from the favorite 
poets ; short stories, and other miscellaneous literature. 

It also contains notices of a few of our principal busi¬ 
ness houses, banks, insurance companies, etc.; so that, in 
some respects, it may perhaps be useful for purposes of 
reference. 

The forty steel engravings are by the most distin¬ 
guished artists in the United States. 

In compiling this volume we have been forced to 
make use of other works. We are indebted to Mr. 
Matthew Hale Smyth tor much information borrowed 
from the pages of his “ Successful Folks,” a book which 
is eminently instructive, and should be in the hands of 
all who are fighting the fierce battle of life. 

To Messrs. Barnes & Company, our thanks are due 
for much that we have used from Bundy’s “Life of 
Garfield” in writing the memoir of the President. 

We should also acknowledge our indebtedness to 







6 


PREFACE. 


“ Johnson’s Cyclopaedia,” and to a few of our leading 
journals and magazines for some of the matter contained 
in the following pages. 

The idea of getting up the book was only conceived 
about the middle of last month; and, as it was desirable 
that it should be published before the end of December, 
there has been but little time for its preparation. It 
will, therefore, probably not be free from many imper¬ 
fections. But whatever these may be, we must jdead 


“good intentions,” and trust that the public will not 
withhold a generous indulgence. 

It is not put forward with any pretentious aspirations. 
It is a mere journal, as its title indicates, and its char¬ 
acter should not be lost sight of in estimating its merits. 
But its chief recommendation will probably lie in the 
excellence of its engravings and in the idea which 
inspired it. 

C. F. D. 


December 14, 1881. 









CONTENTS 


A Brief Memoir of James Abram Garfield . 


PAGE 

13 

Good Greetings. 

56 

Details of His Assassination. 


20 

The Bepublican National Convention .... 

57 

Funeral Oration by Bey. Isaac Errett . 


21 

Eloquence 

65 

After the Burial (Poetry) . 


24 

Members of President Arthur’s Cabinet, Senators, 


General Garfield, the Soldier . 


24 

and Members of the House of Bepresentatives 

66 

Golden Sayings of Lincoln . 


35 

Governors of the States and Territories, with Short 


Queen Victoria. 


36 

Historical and Geographical Notes 

69 

A Vision of the Bepublic (Poetry) .... 


37 

4 

Foreign Legations in the United States 

72 

Cheering Voices from Many Lands (Poetry) . 


38 

United States Legations Abroad. 

73 

Peter Cooper . 


39 

Old World Good-by (Poetry). 

74 

Sarah Bedell Cooper . 


40 

Woman’s Heroism . 

75 

Thomas A. Scott . 


42 

Proverbs of Trade . 

75 

Bishop Simpson . 


45 

The Star-Spangled Banner (Poetry) .... 

76 

James G. Blaine . 


45 

A Wife Wanted; or, How Mr. Figgins Bemained an Old 


Henry Wadsavorth Longfellow .... 


46 

Bachelor . 

76 

To Longfelloav on His Birthday (Poetry) 


47 

The James Fountain . 

79 

Oliver Wendell Holmes ...... 


47 

Mirth . 

80 

James Bussell Lowell ...... 


48 

A Woman’s Love (Poetry) . 

80 

N. P. Willis . 


48 

Tjet us Count the Cost of Bum and Tobacco 

81 

Balph Waldo Emerson . 


48 

The Little Grave (Poetry) . 

81 

William Cullen Bryant. 


48 

Queen Anne’s Son. 

82 

W. C. Bryant’s Autograph Letter to C. F. Deiiim . 


49 

The Village Blacksmith (Poetry). 

83 

John G. Whittier . 


50 

Forgotten . 

83 

General Winfield Scott Hancock .... 


50 

No One Like a Mother. 

83 

The Public Good . 


51 

Our Boys. 

84 

The Publishing House of J. B. Lippincott & Co., 

OF 


IjONGFELLOW at Bowdoin. 

84 

Philadelphia . 

• 

51 

The Path to Success (Poetry) .. 

84 

Garfield as a Canaler . 


52 

COPPET AND MmE. DE StAEL. 

85 

James Gordon Bennett . 

• 

53 

Finger Nails . 

85 

Men of the Time . 

• 

54 

The Voice of the Old Bell (Poetry) .... 

85 

John Marshall, TjL.D. . 


56 

1 Opinions of the Press on Kissing. 

86 


7 
















8 


CONTENTS. 


Journalism. 

Scenery and Bumps .... 

Our Finances. 

The Lost City of Shedaud 

Card Basket. 

Human Life (Poetry) .... 

Matrimonial Martyrs .... 

The True Gentleman (Poetiy) . 

A Girl’s First Lover .... 

The Little Dog Under the Wagon (Poetiy) 

Romance of the Astors 
A Woebegone Lover (Poetry) . 

James Harper’s Set-Out 

Possibilities. 

Moses Taylor— A Steady Pull . 

Claflin as a Merchant 
Demas Barnes Polls in Some Cotton 
In Sunset Light (Poetry) . 

Yorktown. 

Our Children (Poetry) 

My Mummy ...... 

Shadows . 

Where to Buy Black Silks and Satins 

Sugar from Eags. 

Columbia (Poetry) .... 

Grammar in Rhyme .... 

Christmas Cards. 

The Presidents of the United States and their Wives. 
Arriere-Pensee (Pucliy; 

Who Was my Quiet Friend? . 

Maxims for Young Men 
Crow Blackbirds Eat Fish 
Are Parlors Useful? 

Pins in England. 

Winter Song (Poetry j . 

Hard Work. 

Was it by Accident? . 

The Unfortunate Toad 


PAGE 

86 

87 

87 

88 
89 

89 

90 

92 

93 

93 

94 
94 

94 

95 

96 
96 
96 

96 

97 

97 

98 
101 
101 
102 
102 
103 

103 

104 
109 
109 
111 
111 
112 
112 
112 
112 

113 

114 


The Old Man’s Dream (Poetry) 

The Law of Contention . . • • 

Nothing Lost but a Heart (Poetiy) 

Don’t Hurry Too Fast to be Rich (Poetry) 
Annie’s Housekeeping 
The Baby’s Kiss (Poetry) . 

Going to Law .... 

The True History of a Codfish 
The Recognition of Truth 
God’s Plans. Alone. (Poetry). 

Better Than Them All (Poetiy) 

Sale of Montpelier . 

Influence of Women . 

Our Home (Poetry) 

Influence of a Wife . 

Our Darling Sailor Boy (Poetry) 

At Ridley’s. A Shaker's Meeting 
Stationers and Printers 
Child’s Faith (Poetry) 

Marvin W. Cooper 
The Bride (Poetry) 

Bright Days of Winter (Poetry) 
Overshooting the Mark 
How to Carry an Umbrella 
One Way of Collecting Subscriptions 

Humorous. 

Proverbs in Polite English 
Dosing. Paper Car-Wheels 
George W. Quintard .... 

How a Man Takes Care of a Baby 
Poor Pay, Poor Preach 
Love (Poetry) 

The Disguised Lover 
Grandmothers 
A Perfect Miser . 

1 he Debt to Mother 
Dont’s for Husbands . 

Sentenced to Matrimony 


PAGE 

115 

115 

115 

116 
116 

117 

118 
118 
120 
120 
121 
121 
121 
122 
122 
123 

123 

124 

125 
125 

125 

126 
126 
128 
128 
128 

129 

130 

130 

131 

131 

132 

132 

133 
133 
135 
135 
135 




















CONTENTS. 


9 


Women as Shoppers. Agreeable People 

PAGE 

. 135 

Words to Young People 



PAGE 

172 

Food for Thought. 

. 136 

English Skies 



172 

Domestic Life of the Presidents 

. 136 

Pianos and Their History 



173 

The Last Word of the Singer 

. 137 

Home Atmosphere 



174 

Lines to a Teacup (Poetry) .... 

. 149 

Greenwood .... 



175 

Peter Baker’s Dream (Christmas Story) . 

. 150 

By the Tomb of Garfield . 



176 

Morning. Historical Coincidences . 

. 152 

The Donkey’s Lament 



177 

New York Winter Fashions .... 

. 152 

What Shall We Do with Our 

Daughters ? 


177 

Our Goal and Glory (Poetry) .... 

. 153 

E. Clinton .... 



178 

The Eleventh Commandment (Poetry) 

. 154 

A Prince Chastised 

. 


178 

Laura’s Doctor. 

. 154 

Banks and Bankers . 

. 


179 

Superstitions ....... 

. 155 

Thoughts on Marriage 



180 

The School-Boy (Poetry). 

. 156 

Love’s Disguises . 

. 


180 

The World’s Women. 

. 157 

What Shall Girls Do? 



181 

Women as Physicians. 

. 158 

Carried His Own Bundle . 



182 

English Aristocratic Sport .... 

. 159 

Benjamin B. Sherman 


. 

184 

The Clock Across the Way (Poetry) 

. 160 

The Bachelor’s Club; or, the 

Reason Why 

Some Men 


Bending Her Will. 

. 160 

Don’t Marry (Poetry) 



185 

A Hymn for the New Year (Poetry) 

. 161 

A Bold Defence . 

. 


186 

A Head of Your Own (Poetry) 

. 162 

Saturday Afternoon (Poetry) 



186 

Professor J. Jay Watson. 

. 162 

Fire Insurance Companies . 


. 

187 

A Young Widow. 

. 164 

Life Insurance Companies . 



187 

Taking Her Down. 

. 164 

Our Railways 



188 

A Fearless and Truthful Judge 

. 165 

The Courtin’ (Poetry) 

. 


189 

The Need of Women Doctors in India . 

. 166 

The Yoiceless (Poetry) 


- 

190 

Mothers as Teachers. 

. 166 

The Hew York Press 



190 

Choosing a Wife. 

. 167 

James J. Barclay 



190 

Facetiae.. . 

. 168 

Successful Men 



191 

Items of Interest . 

. 168 

Directory of Hew York Cety 

Banks 


192 

The Gray Swan (Poetry). 

. 169 

Philadelphia Clearing-House 

(Directory of 

PlIILADEL- 


Principle in Business. 

170 

phia Banks) 

. 

. 

193 

Social Chit-Chat. 

. 170 

The Century Safe 


. 

194 

Something About Gems. 

. 171 

Safes . 

. 

. 

199 

How Brushes are Made. 

. 171 

Our Second Century . 


• • , 

200 












list of steel engravings. 


James A. Garfield 
Mrs. Garfield 
Queen Victoria . 
George Washington 
John Adams 
Thomas Jefferson 
James Madison 
James Monroe 
John Quincy Adams 
Andrew Jackson 
Martin Yan Buren 
William H. Harrison 
John Tyler 
James Iv. Polk 

i 

Zachary Taylor 
Millard Fillmore 
Franklin Pierce 
James Buchanan 
Abraham Lincoln 
Andrew Johnson 



PAGE 

Frontispiece . 


18 

22 

26 

30 

36 

40 

46 

50 

56 

60 

66 

70 

76 

80 

86 

90 

96 

100 


Ulysses S. Grant 
Rutherford B. Hayes 
Chester A. Arthur 
James G. Blaine 
J. Marshall, C. J., LL.D. 
M. R. Waite. 

William Cullen Bryant 
Henry W. Longfellow 
Oliver Wendell Holmes 
James Russell Lowell 
Ralph Waldo Emerson 
John G. Whittier 
1ST. P. Willis . 

James J. Barclay 
Benjamin B. Sherman 
George W. Quintard 
M. W. Cooper 
Cyrus H. Loutrel 
Edwin Clinton 
C. F. Deihm . 


PAGK 

106 

110 

116 

120 

126 

130 

136 

140 

146 

150 

156 

160 

164 

168 

172 

176 

180 

186 

190 

196 











MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 





















PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 



A BRIEF MEMOIR 

OF 

JAMES ABRAM GARFIELD. 


THE ORIGIN OF THE FAMILY. 

I should be compelled to trespass far be¬ 
yond the limits of my space, if I were to at¬ 
tempt a portrayal of all the details and inci¬ 
dents which go to form the faithful picture 
of James Abram Garfield’s life. 

His numerous biographers have well-nigh 
exhausted all the resources at command; 
and to them I must refer for the minor par¬ 
ticulars of his history. I can only present 
to the reader the principal and more salient 
features. 

James Abram Garfield was the son of 
humble but respectable parents. On the 
maternal side he descended from the Ballous, 
one of whom settled at Cumberland, Rhode 
Island, at the period of the revocation of the 
Edict of Nantes. He had fled from France 
—his home and country—rather than re¬ 
nounce the faith of which his conscience had 
approved. The father of Eliza, General 
Garfield’s mother, was called James, and, 
while yet a boy, removed with bis father 
into New Hampshire, where a home was 
founded for the family in the forests of Rich- 
mond. There they became connected with 
the Ingalls, Mehitabel Ingalls being the name 
of Eliza’s mother. 

On the paternal side, General Garfield was 
the descendant of a Welsh family, a branch 
of which emigrated to this country, settling 
at Waterlow, Massachusetts. There Edward 
2 


Garfield, from whom James Abram is im¬ 
mediately traceable, was buried. After the 
Revolutionary war, Solomon Garfield, one of 
Edward’s descendants, moved with his chil¬ 
dren to ^swego County, where Abram 
Garfield, the father of James, first saw the 
light. The history of his early love and 
marriage is not without romance. The girl 
of his heart had moved West with her par¬ 
ents, but he followed her there, claimed her 
as his bride, and, having accumulated a little 


money as a canal contractor, bought some 
land in Orange County, where he settled. 
The country was, at that time, a “ howling 
wilderness.” There were few settlers about. 
Nothing daunted, however, and with love to 
encourage him, he set right royally to work. 
He cleared and cultivated gradually. Neigh¬ 
bors settled near by. A little community was 
formed; and the small farm commenced to 
look prosperous. 

On that farm, and in the humble log cabin 
which the father had built, James Abram 


Garfield was born, on the 19th of November, 
1831. 

The happiness of the little family was not 
destined to be of long duration. In endea¬ 
voring to cut off a fire which threatened to 
bury in its flames their cabin and all the 
fruits of their labor, Abram Garfield over¬ 
taxed himself, caught a severe chill, and his 
death, which was accelerated by the minis¬ 
trations of an empiric, followed. 

The farm was encumbered; but in her 


terrible grief, and with the “ four saplings” 
which were left on her arms, courage never 
forsook the young wife. She sold a portion 
of the land, and with the proceeds paid off 
the debts. She worked hard. Providence 
came to the widow’s assistance, and the little 
farm prospered. 

Young James, who was only two years old 
when his father died, grew in strength and 
intelligence, and, even at that early age, be¬ 
gan to show signs of that singularly-gifted 
mind which distinguished him in after-years. 

13 



BIRTHPLACE OF JAMES A. GARFIELD. 





























14 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


He commenced early to help at the farm, 
carrying water and wood, and performing 
such small duties as were suitable to his ten¬ 
der years. lie evinced considerable aptitude 
for carpentering; and the little which he 
learned at home with his rusty tools enabled 
him, later on, to pay for his maintenance 
while prosecuting his studies at college. In 
winter, the children were sent to the village 
school, and the mother’s wits were constant¬ 
ly employed in devising ways and means 
to keep them in shoes. The rapidity with 
which little James acquired his elementary 
lessons elicited the admiration of his com¬ 
panions. At home, their instruction was 
not neglected. The widow taught the chil¬ 
dren, when there was any time to spare from 
the duties of the farm, bringing them up in 
that love and fear of God, and implanting the 
seeds of that religious piety, which always 
remained vigorously growing in the mind of 
her Benjamin. 



digious memory developed early, learned 
Webster’s spelling-book almost by heart by 
the time ho was eight years old.” 

The boy had a great fondness for books, 
and devoured all the reading which ho came 
across. Stories of startling adventures and 
hair-breadth ’scapes possessed peculiar 
charms for him; and such was the impres¬ 
sion these stories had made upon his youth¬ 
ful mind that it is said he was able, in his 
latest } r ears, to recite accurately whole pas¬ 
sages from what he had read. 

It was the story of Jack Halliard which 
captivated his imagination, and set him 
thinking about the sea. 

I shall not follow him step by step through 
this period of his career, to relate how he 
labored at his studies, helped at the farm, 
“ worked out” as a laborer and carpenter, 
boiled “black salts,” hewed wood, and earned 
his nine dollars a month and board. I shall 
pass over it and come to other, though not 
more interesting, particulars. 

The highly-colored picture which his im¬ 
agination had formed of the glories of a life 
on the waves, had never faded from his 
memory. Time had only heightened the 
colors. He had communicated his wishes to 
his mother; but she had succeeded for a 
time in dissuading him from his purpose. 
One day, however, he made up his mind to 
go, and taking his stick and bundle, and ac¬ 
companied by his mother’s blessing, started 
off in the direction of the sea. The rude, 
drunken conduct of the skipper to whom he 
applied for an engagement, however, damp¬ 
ened his ardor for a time, while the couleur de 
rose, through which lie had been peeping at 
the world, began to fade from his eyes. 

Returning from Cleveland after his disap¬ 
pointment, he fell in with a cousin who 
worked on one of the canal-boats, and who 
offered to give him employment 

UPON TIIE TOW-PATII. 


The poor mother’s joy at seeing him can 
only be imagined. He had never been one 
moment out of her thoughts, and the dangers 
of the sea had filled her soul with the most 
appalling fears. 

The hard life of exposure and privations 
which he had been leading had told upon 
his frame. lie got dangerously ill; and, for 
several months, the anxious mother watched 
lovingly at his pillow. When he recovered, 
he made the acquaintance of Samuel D. 
Bates, who had just then arrived at Orange. 
This young man—then a school-teacher and 
now a prominent preacher—had graduated 
at a high school at Chester, which went by 
the name of Geauga Seminary; and the 
relation of his high-school experiences so 
stimulated young Garfield’s ambition, that 
he was easily persuaded, for the time at 
least, to give up all thoughts of the sea and 
attend a term at the seminary. 

The doctor’s bills had swallowed all 
James’s savings, but the devoted mother 



GAIIFIELD AT FOURTEEN YEARS (FROM A MINIATURE). 


MRS. ELIZA BALLOU GARFIELD, 

Mother of President James A. Garfield. 

The school was a log house, and had been 
put up upon a portion of the farm tendered 
for the purpose by the anxious widow. 

“At the end of the first term,” says Mr. 
Bundy, in his admirable biography of the 
late President, “ he received a New Testa¬ 
ment as a prize for being the best reader in 
his class of little hoys. The school-house 
was plain and rough enough. The scholars 
sat on split logs, hewed a little on the top, 
four pegs put on the round side and support¬ 
ing the benches. At first the teacher was 
very ordinary, but Eastern school-teachers, 
or ‘ schoolma’ams,’ came along and did hot¬ 
ter. Little James went to school summers 
and winters, loving all his studies and work¬ 
ing hard. Text-books were few and of all 
sorts, but faithfully learned, which was the 
main thing. James, for instance, whose pro¬ 


As his thoughts of the sea had not quit 
abandoned him, he readily accepted the offe 
v ith the reflection that the experience wliic 
would be gained on the canal would be se: 
viceablc to him later on upon the oceai 
His earnings were ten dollars a month an 
board. 

Of his life on the canal a great many ac 
ventures are related. His courage and grer 
muscular power were frequently called^int 
icquisition; and in several encounters, int 
which ho was provoked, he came off triun 
pliant ly, and compelled the respect of hi 


antagonists 


But his term of rough probation w 
drawing to an end. His destiny called hi 
elsewhere. An accident which occurred 
hmi, and in which he narrowly escaped fro 
drowning brought him to reflect upon 1, 
iuture and decided him in returning hon 
and resuming his studies. 


pinched in all directions and succeeded in 
scraping together the modest sum of seven¬ 
teen dollars, which was all that Garfield 
possessed when he set off for 

GEAUGA SEMINARY. 

Two of his cousins were induced to ac¬ 
company him, and they got to Chester on 
the 6tli of March, 1849. A small room in 
an ill-conditioned house was rented by the 
boys, and their achievements in the way of 
economy surpassed anything of the kind 
ever before heard of. 

The seminary contained about one hun¬ 
dred pupils of both sexes, and there it was 
that young Garfield first met his future wife, 
Miss Lucretia Rudolph, whose quiet ways 
and studious habits excited his admiration 
and inspired his boyish love. lie studied 
hard and drew largely upon the resources of 
the school library, which, though counting 




























15 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


only one hundred and fifty volumes, appeared 
to him a gigantic collection. 

When the term was over his money had 
gone. But he set to work at carpentering, 
and in other ways, and succeeded in accu¬ 
mulating sufficient money to enable him to 
get through to the end of the year. This he 
accomplished with remarkable success, and in 
a way which drew down upon him the united 
encomiums of teachers and fellow-students. 

Believing he was sufficiently advanced to 


run to waste. The preacher touched his 
sympathies and moved his heart. He 
‘came out,’ made a profession of religion, 
and was baptized in the faith of his mother. 
He was then a few months past eighteen 
To use the general’s own language, ‘ Of 
course that settled canal, and lake, and sea, 
and everything.’ A new life, with new 
thoughts and ambitions, dawned upon him. 
He resolved at once that he would have the 
best education that it was in the power of 


animating him by her example. A tribute 
written by Garfield after her premature 
death, showed how much he appreciated her 
regard and admired her intellect. Referring 
to a colloquy for the public examinations, 
which had been prepared under her guidance, 
Garfield afterwards said, “My admiration 
of her knowledge and ability was unbounded. 
And even now, after the glowing picture 
painted upon my memory in the strong 
colors of youthful enthusiasm has been 



GARFIELD ON THE TOW-PATH. 


become a teacher, he applied for a certificate, 
which he had no difficulty in obtaining; and 
at eighteen years of age he opened 

HIS FIRST DISTRICT SCHOOL. 

The master of the school which James 
undertook to conduct, had been compelled 
to leave in consequence of the rowdyism of 
some of the bigger boys, and James ex¬ 
perienced no slight difficulty in their man¬ 
agement. His courage, determination, and 
muscular powers again came to his assist¬ 
ance, and having thrashed the biggest boy 
until he was compelled to submit, the re¬ 
mainder were easily subdued. When he left 
the school he was respected and beloved by 
parents and pupils. 

“ It ‘was during that winter,” writes Mr. 
Bundy, “that he fell under the influence of 
a ‘ Disciples’ preacher who held forth in the 
little school-house. The preacher was a good, 
solid old man, the incarnation of good sense, 
and had something about him that touched 
the young schoolmaster. For some years 
previous, the latter had been somev hat 
offish on the subject of religion ; felt the 
irksomeness of its pressure and absented 
himself from church. A strange leclingcame 
over him that the plain old preacher had 
come to get hold of a life that was likely to 


work to give. With this high purpose, he 
went back to Chester and began his new 
life. He remained there during the spring 
and next fall, making four terms at Chester, 
and taught again the next winter, getting 
sixteen dollars a month.” 

We next find James Garfield 

AT HIRAM COLLEGE, 

an institution which had originated with the 
“ Disciples,” of whom Garfield was now an 
enthusiastic follower, and under the foster¬ 
ing hand of Alexander Campbell. Here he 
perfected himself in the higher branches of 
education, acquired his knowledge of classics 
and commenced the study of German, in 
which he afterwards became so proficient a 
scholar. 

Here, also, he became more intimately 
acquainted with Miss Lucrctia Rudolph, 
whose influence on Garfield had, probably, 
much to do in stimulating his energies and 
shaping the course of his career. 

There was another, too, at Hiram, whose 
society and friendship exercised a beneficent 
influence upon the mind of our student. 
This was Miss Alnioda Booth, a woman ot 
spotless virtue and high and varied attain¬ 
ments. To him she was a true counsellor 
and friend, helping him with her advice and 


shaded down b 3 r the colder and more sombre 
tints which a quarter of a century has added, 

I still regard her work on that occasion as 
possessing great merit.” 

Her influence on Garfield was great. And 
if there is anything on earth which elevates 
the soul of man, stimulates his ambition, 
chastens his desires, and refines his tastes, it 
is the society and friendship of a good and 
noble woman. Garfield was particularly 
favored in that respect. Born in the atmos¬ 
phere of that holy influence ; surrounded by 
it at college, and enjoying it in a peculiarly 
strong measure in his domestic life, it would 
indeed have been extraordinary if his career 
had not been a remarkable one. 

Garfield did not finish his studies at Hiram. 
They were completed 

AT WILLIAMS COLLEGE, 

where he graduated “ with high honors, with 
the highest college popularity, and with the 
unreserved confidence and admiration of 
President Hopkins, and all his faculty.” 

He returned to Hiram, where now lived 
Miss Lucrctia Rudolph, and there they 
wore engaged in 1854. Their marriage took 
place in November, 1858, the ceremony 
being performed by the Rev. Dr. Hitchcock, 
President of the Western College at Hudson. 




















1G 


PRESIDE 


The following extract from the pen of 
Professor B. A. Hinsdale, in “The Centen¬ 
nial History of Education in Ohio,” may be 
interesting, as showing the aims of the 
founders in the establishment of the Col¬ 
lege of Hiram: 

“The aims of the school were both gen¬ 
eral and special; more narrowly they were 
these: 

“ 1. To provide a sound scientific and lit¬ 
erary education. 

“2. To temper and sweeten such educa¬ 
tion with moral and scriptural knowledge. 

“3. To educate young men for the min¬ 
istry. 

“ One peculiar tenet of the religious move¬ 
ment in which it originated was impressed 
upon the Eclectic Institute at its organ¬ 
ization. The Disciples believed that the 
Bible had been in a degree obscured by the 


Pf JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 

region of country. Ohio furnished the 
larger number, but there was a liberal pa¬ 
tronage from Canada, New York, and Penn¬ 
sylvania; a considerable number came from 
the Southern States, and a still larger Irom 
the Western. These students differed widely 
in age, ability, culture, and wants. Some 
received grammar-school instruction; others 
high-school instruction; while others still 
pushed on far into the regular college course. 
Classes were organized and taught in the 
collegiate studies as they were called for,— 
language, mathematics, literature, science, 
philosophy, and history. No degrees were 
conferred, and no students were graduated. 
After they had mastered the English studies, 
students were allowed a wide range of choice. 
The principle of election had free course. 
A course of study was published in the cat¬ 
alogue after the first year or two ; but it was 


JOURNAL. 


“ Although only twenty-eight years of 
age, and new to legislation, or any other 
official experience, he speedily took rank as 
! one of the readiest and best informed deba- 
| ters in a body containing many experienced 
and able men. Realizing the nature of the 
‘irrepressible conflict’ that was breaking 
up parties and confounding the wisdom of 
old leaders, he was not long in arraying him¬ 
self alongside of Senator Jacob D. Cox_ 

since General, Governor of Ohio, and Sec¬ 
retary of the Interior—and Senator Monroe, 
an Oberlin professor, and the trio were rec¬ 
ognized as the ‘Radical Senators.’ 

“The first report which Garfield made as 
a member of a committee in the State Sen¬ 
ate, was on the revival and completion of 
the geological survey of the State. In such 
subjects as this his enthusiasms have always 
been easy to be moved, and it would be dif- 



LAWNFIELD. 


theological speculations and ecclesiastical 
systems. Hence, their religious movement 
was a revolt from the theology of the schools, 
and an overture to men to come face to face 
with the Scriptures. They believed, also, 
that to the holy writings belonged a larger 
place in general culture than had yet been 
accorded to them. Accordingly, in all their 
educational institutions they have empha¬ 
sized the Bible and its related branches of 
knowledge. This may be called the distinc¬ 
tive feature of their schools. The charter of 
the Eclectic Institute, therefore, declared 
the purpose of the institution to be: ‘The 
instruction of youth of both sexes in the 
various branches of literature and science, 
especially of moral science, as based on the 
facts and precepts of the Holy Scriptures.’ 

“The Institute rose at once to a high 
degree of popularity. On the opening day 
eighty-four students were in attendance, and 
soon the number rose to two or three hun¬ 
dred per term. Students came from a wide 


rather a list of studies taught as they were 
called for, than a curriculum that students 
pretended closely to follow.” 

He was appointed 

PROFESSOR OF LATIN AND GREEK 

in 1856, and in a short time was promoted 
to the post of 

PRESIDENT OF THE INSTITUTION ; 

and it was whilst holding that position that 
ho was elected, in 1859, as State Senator by 
the people of Summit and Portage—an honor 
which Avas unsought and unsolicited. 

His record as a 


OIAIU SENATOR 


would occupy more space than my limits 
“How. Suffice it to say that it was as credit- 
aide to Garfield as it was gratifying to his 
friends and constituents. 

The following passage, however, from 
1 r. Bundy s work will be read with interest: 


ficult tor him e\ T en now to write a document 
of a dozen pages, which could more compre¬ 
hensively and interestingly aAvaken the peo¬ 
ple of Ohio to the importance of a thorough 
geological survey of their State. His faculty 
for grouping statistics and making them 
eloquent and practical, Avas avcII illustrated 
in this effecth r e presentation of the vast 
resources of his State. A shorter report on 
the subject of the education of the neglected, 
destitute, and pauper children, was a fitting 
prelude to the large and more important 
efforts in the cause of education, as to Avhich 
no one of our public men has developed such 
a combination of philosophical thinking ap¬ 
plied to a vast mass of statistics. 

“ Another report, on the subject of Avcights 
and measures, is a brief but comprehensive 
presentation of the history of English and 
American systems, and of the progress that 
has been made in approximating scientific 
standards. 

“In the last part of Garfield’s service as 























“ WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS THE DEEP SYMPATHY I 
PEEL FOR YOU AT THIS TEHRIBLE MOMENT. MAY GOD SUPPORT 
AND COMFORT YOU. AS HE ALONE CAN. 

THE (qmiEBHo” 








PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


19 


quered foe that lay prostrate at its feet: 
‘This is our only revenge, that you join us 
in lifting into the serene firmament of the 
Constitution, to shine like stars forever and 
ever, the immortal principles of truth and 
justice, that all men, white or black, shall be 
free, and stand equal before the law.’ Then 
came the questions of reconstruction, the 
public debt, and the public faith. 

“The Republican party has finished its 
twenty-five years of glory and success, and 
is here to-night to ask you to launch it on 
another lustrum of glory and victory. How 
shall you do it? Not by assailing any Re¬ 
publican. [Cheers.] The battle this year 
is our Thermopylae. We stand on the nar¬ 
row isthmus, and the little Spartan band 
must meet all the Persians whom Xerxes 
can bring against them, and then the stars 
in their courses will fight for us. [Applause.] 
To win the victory we want the vote of 
every Grant Republican, and of every Blaine 
man, and of every anti-Blaine man. We are 
here to take calm counsel together, and to 
inquire what we shall do. We want a man 
whose life and opinions embody all the 
achievements of which I have spoken. 

“I am happy to present to you, and to 
name for your consideration, a man who was 
the comrade, the associate, and the friend, 
of nearly all those persons whose faces look 
down upon us in this building to-night; a 
man who began his career in the politics of 
this country twenty-five years ago; whose 
first service was done in the days of peril 
on the plains of Kansas, when the first red 
drop of that blood-shower began to fall, 
which increased into the deluge of gore in 
the rebellion. He stood by young Kansas 
then, and returned to his seat in the national 
legislature. Through all the subsequent 
years his pathway has been marked by the 
labors which he had performed in every de¬ 
partment of legislation. If you ask me for 
his monument, I point to twenty-five years 
of the National Statutes. There is not one 
great, one beneficent statute on your books 
within that time that has been placed there 
without his intelligent and powerful aid. 
lie was one of the men who formulated the 
laws that raised our great armies and navies 
and carried us through the war. Ilis hand 
was in the workmanship of the statutes 
which brought back the unity and married 
calm of these States. Ilis band was in all 
that great legislation which created the great 
war currency that carried us through, and 
in the still greater work that redeemed the 
promise of the government and made it 
good. [Applause.] 

“At last he passed from the halls of legis¬ 
lation into a high executive office, and there 
he displayed that experience, intelligence, 
firmness, and power of equipoise, which 
through a stormy period ol two and a half 
years, with half the public press howling 


and crying, ‘ Crucify him,’ carried him 
through unswerved by a single hair from 
the lino of duty. He has improved the re¬ 
sources of the government and the great 
business interests of the country, and has 
carried us through in the execution of that 
law without a jar, in spite of the false 
prophets and Cassandras of half the conti¬ 
nent. [Applause.] He has shown himself 
able to meet in the calmness of statemanship 
all the great emergencies of government. For 
twenty-five years he has trod that perilous 
height of public duty, and against all the 
shafts of malice he has borne his crest un¬ 
harmed, and the blaze of that fierce light 
which has been upon him has found no flaw 
in his honor, no stain on his shield. I do 
not present him as a better Republican or a 
better man than thousands of others whom 
we honor and revere; but I present him for 
your deliberate consideration. I nominate 
John Sherman, of Ohio.” 

SPEECH OE GARFIELD ON THE FIRST ANNI¬ 
VERSARY OF THE DEATH OF LINCOLN. 

Another sample of his eloquence is to be 
found in the admirable speech which he de¬ 
livered shortly after his return to Congress, 
on the first anniversary of the death of 
Lincoln. 

In moving the adjournment of the House 
on that occasion, General Garfield said,— 

“This day, Mr. Speaker, will be sadly 
memorable so long as this nation shall en¬ 
dure, which God grant may be till the last 
syllable of recorded time, when the volume 
of human history shall be sealed up and de¬ 
livered to the Omnipotent Judge. In all 
future time, on the recurrence of this day, I 
doubt not that the citizens of this republic 
will meet in solemn assembly to reflect on 
the life and character of Abraham Lincoln, 
and the awful tragic event of April 14, 1865, 
—an event unparalleled in the history of 
nations, certainly unparalleled in our own. 
It is eminently proper that this House should 
this day place upon its records a memorial 
of that event. The last five years have been 
marked by wonderful developments of in¬ 
dividual character. Thousands of our people, 
before unknown to fame, have taken their 
places in history, crowned with immortal 
honors. In thousands of humble homes are 
dwelling heroes and patriots whose names 
shall never die. But greatest among all 
these great developments were the character 
and fame of Abraham Lincoln, whose loss 
the nation still deplores. Ilis character is 
aptly described in the words of England’s 
great laureate—written thirty years ago— 
in which he traces the upward steps of 
some 

“ 1 Divinely gifted man, 

Whose life in low estato began, 

And on a simple village green ; 


“ ‘ Who breaks his birth’s invidious bar, 

And grasps the skirts of happy chance, 
And breasts the blow of circumstance, 

And grapples with his evil star; 

“ ‘ Who makes by force his merit known, 

And lives to clutch the golden keys, 

To mould a mighty State’s decrees, 

And shape the whisper of the throne; 

“ ‘ And moving up from high to higher, 

Becomes, on Fortune's crowning slope, 

The pillar of a People’s hope, 

The centre of a world’s desire.’ 

“ Such a life and character will be treas¬ 
ured forever as the sacred possession of the 
American people and of mankind. In the 
great drama of the rebellion there were two 
acts. The first was the war, with its battles 
and sieges, victories and defeats, its suffer¬ 
ings and tears. 

“ That act was closing one year ago to¬ 
night, and just as the curtain was lifting on 
the second and final act—the restoration of 
peace and liberty—just as the curtain was 
rising upon new characters and new events, 
the evil spirit of the rebellion, in the fury of 
despair, nerved and directed the hand of the 
assassin to strike down the chief character 
in both. It was no one man who killed 
Abraham Lincoln; it was the embodied 
spirit of treason and slavery, inspii’ed with 
fearful, despairing hate, that struck him 
down in the moment of the nation’s su- 
premest joy. 

“Ah, sir, there are times in the history of 
men and nations when the} T stand so near 
the veil that separates mortals from the im¬ 
mortals, time from eternity, and men from 
their God, that they can almost hear the 
beatings and feel the pulsations of the heart 
of the Infinite. Through such a time has 
this nation passed. When two hundred 
and fifty thousand brave spirits passed 
from the field of honor, through that thin 
veil, to the presence of God; and when at 
last its parting folds admitted the martyr 
President to the company of the dead 
heroes of the republic, the nation stood so 
near the veil that the whispers of God 
were heard by the children of men. Awe¬ 
stricken by His voice, the American people 
knelt in tearful reverence, and made a 
solemn covenant with Him, and with each 
other, that their nation should be saved 
from its enemies, that all its glories should 
be restored, and, on the ruins of slavery 
and treason, the temple of freedom and 
justice should be built, and should survive 
forever. It remains for us, consecrated by 
that great event, and under a covenant 
with God to keep that faith, to go forward 
in the great work until it shall be completed. 
Following the lead of that great man, and 
obeying the high behests of God, let us re¬ 
member that— 









20 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


“ 1 He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never 
call retreat; 

lie is sifting out the hearts of men before His 
judgment-seat; 

O, he swift, my soul, to answer Him; he jubilant, 
my, feet; 

Our God is marching on !’ ” 


As a barrister Garfield did but little, but 
that little was of a character which proved 
that be would have been no mean antagonist 
in the arena of a court of justice. 

With regard to 

gaufield’s private life, 

it may be said that no man, perhaps, ever 
enjoyed greater domestic felicity than he 
did. Never was a shadow known to have 
darkened the harmony of that love which, 
commenced in the school-room, had ever re¬ 
mained bright and fast through all the years 
of change and trial. The same hatred of 
display which characterized him in public 
he also exhibited in private life ; and, in this 
respect, the dispositions of the husband and 
wife were entirely in unison ; as, indeed, 
they were in all matters. His tastes were 
simple, and what the world designates as 
humbug never found a foothold in his com¬ 
position. lie was, at all times and in all cir¬ 
cumstances, what he appeared to every one. 
It was his natural manners and his frank, 
smiling face, free from all arrieres pensees, 
that rendered President Garfield so prepos¬ 
sessing, and endeared him at once to all 
who had the privilege of meeting him. Sur¬ 
rounded by an aged, loving mother, a loving- 
wife, and loving children, he had all the ele¬ 
ments at hand for a life of happiness and 
prolonged utility. 

In his cottage of “ Lawnfield,” and at his 
residence in Washington, he was always 
ready to dispense a generous hospitality; 
while his cultivated mind attracted under 
his social roof a refined and select circle of 
friends who delighted in “ the feast of reason 
and the flow of soul” which his company 
ever afforded. 

It is said that, six months before his 
nomination to the Presidency, his venerable 
mother had prophetically announced the 
fact to him. But, be this as it may, he was 
elected 

PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES 

on the 2d of November, 1880, after a most 
exciting election, during which a dastardly 
attempt was made to prejudice his candida¬ 
ture. A vile, calumnious letter was concocted, 
and circulated by his enemies, purporting to 
show that General Garfield had expressed 
himself in favor of cheap Chinese labor; 
and, without inquiring into its truth, the let¬ 
ter was published in the newspapers and 
went the round of the States. But bare¬ 
faced forgery could not prevail against the I 
confidence of his party, and he was elected 


by a fair majority; Chester A. Arthur com¬ 
ing in next as Vice-President. 

Seldom had the election of a President 
been announced with such demonstrations 
of popular joy. His inauguration took place 
in presence of a large concourse ol people; 
and the touching incident which they wit¬ 
nessed, of the President kissing his wife and 
aged mother as the ladies came with their 
congratulations, only served to excite their 
cheers and heighten their enthusiasm. No 
act could have exhibited tbe simple nature 
of the man in a more palpable manner. 

The question of civil service reform was 
raised shortly after his inauguration, and a 
dispute arose in the Republican ranks as to 
the appointment of Collector for the Port of 
New York. Senator William H. Robertson 
was appointed; but bis nomination was op- 
posed, on personal grounds, by Senator Roscoe 
Conkling, who demanded the withdrawal of 
the nomination. This, however, the Presi¬ 
dent and his Cabinet refused to accede to, 
and the result was the resignation of Messrs. 
Senators Conkling and Tlatt. 

While the excitement consequent upon 
these resignations was still going on, the 
President retired with his family to Elberon, 
N. J., for the summer holidays; and it was 
on his way to rejoin his wife that, on Satur¬ 
day, the 2d of July, 1881, he was shot by 
Charles Guiteau, in the Washington depot 
of the Baltimore and Potomac Railroad. 

For upwards of nine weeks he lingered on 
his weary bed of suffering, amidst the hopes 
and fears, the fervent prayers of the people; 
and on the 19th of September, at thirty-five 
minutes past ten, his large heart gave its 
last inaudible throb, as he uttered the words, 
“Oh, my country! My trust!” and he 
went to his long, long rest. 

Thus ended a life of which history offei'S 
few parallels. Commenced under circum¬ 
stances which were sufficient to stifle the 
ambition of a less ardent spirit, he battled 
successfully against every obstacle; and, in 
his struggles after knowledge, laid an ex¬ 
ample of self-help which is the best heritage 
he has left to his sorrowing country. 

May every poor lad in this democratic 
land profit by the lessons which his life so 
eloquently teaches, and endeavor to secure 
as great a place in the memory of his com¬ 
patriots ! 

“He has gone to his God; he has gone to his home, 
No more amid peril and error to roam; 

His eyes are no longer dim ; 

His feet will no longer falter; 

No grief can follow him ; 

No pang his cheek can alter. 

“There arc paleness, and weeping, and sighs helow • 
For our faith is faint, and our tears will flow; 

But the harps of heaven are ringing, 

Glad angels come to greet him ; 

And hymns of joy are sinsrine- 

While old friends press to meet him. 


“Oh, honored, beloved, to earth unconfined, 

Thou hast soared on high; thou hast left us behind, 
But our parting is not forever; 

We will follow thee by heaven’s light, 
Where the grave cannot dissever 
The souls whom God will unite. 

“Yes, visions of his future rest 

To man, the pilgrim, here are shown: 

Deep love, pure friendship, thrill his breast, 

And hopes rush in of joys unknown. 

“Released from earth’s dull round of cares, 

The aspiring soul her vigor tries ; 

Plumes her soiled pinions, and prepares 
To soar amid ethereal skies. 

“ Around us float, in changing light, 

The dazzling forms of distant years ; 

And earth becomes a glorious sight, 

Beyond which opening heaven appears.” 


DETAILS OF THE CRIME. 

United States District Attorney Corkhill, 
of Washington, furnished the following 
statement for publication at the time : 

“The interest felt by the public in the 
details of the assassination, and the many 
stories published, justify me in stating that 
the following is a correct and accurate 
statement concerning the points to which 
reference is made : 

“ The assassin, Charles Guiteau, came to 
Washington City on Sunday evening, March 
G, and stopped at the Ebbitt House, remain¬ 
ing only one day. He then secured a room 
in another part of the city, and has boarded 
and roomed at various places, the full details 
of which I have. On Wednesday, May 18, 
the assassin determined to murder the Presi¬ 
dent. He had neither money nor pistol at 
the time. About the last of May he went 
into O’Meara’s store, corner of Fifteenth and 
F Streets, in this city, and examined some 
pistols, asking for the largest calibre. He 
was shown two similar in calibre and only 
different in the price. On Wednesday, June 
8, he purchased the pistol which he used, 
for which he paid $10, having in the mean 
time borrowed 815 of a gentleman in this 
city on the plea that he wanted to pay his 
board bill. On tbe same evening, about 
seven o’clock, he took the pistol and went 
to the foot of Seventeenth Street and prac¬ 
tised firing at a board, firing ten shots. He 
then returned to his hoarding-house and 
wiped the pistol dry and wrapped it in his 
coat and waited his opportunity. 

“On Sunday morning, June 12, he was 
sitting in Lafayette Park and saw the 
President leave for the Christian church, on 
Vermont Avenue, and he at once returned 
to his room, obtained his pistol, put it in his 
hip-pocket, and followed the President to 
church. He entered the church, but found 
that he could not kill him there without 
danger of killing some one else. He noticed 
that the President sat near a window. 



























21 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL 


After church lie made an examination of the 
window and found lie could reach it without 
any trouble, and that from this point he 
could shoot the President through the head 
without killing any one else. The following 
Wednesday he went to the church, examined 
the location and the window, and became 
satisfied he could accomplish his purpose, 
and he determined therefore to make the 
attempt at the church on the following 
Sunday. lie learned from the papers that 
the President would leave the city on Satur¬ 
day, June 18, with Mrs. Garfield for Long 
Branch. lie therefore determined to meet 
him at the depot. He left his boarding- 
place about five o’clock on Saturday morn¬ 
ing, June 18, and went down to the river at 
the foot of Seventeenth Street and fired five 
shots to practise his aim and be certain his 
pistol was in good order. He then went to 
the depot, and was in the ladies’ waiting- 
room of the depot with the pistol ready 
when the President’s party entered. He 
says Mrs. Garfield looked so weak and frail 
that he had not the heart to shoot the 
President in her presence, and as he knew 
he would have another opportunity he left 
the depot. He had previously engaged a 
carriage to take him to the jail. On Wed¬ 
nesday evening the President and his son, 
and, I think, United States Marshal Henry, 
went out for a ride. The assassin took his 
pistol and followed them, and watched them 
for some time in hopes the carriage would 
stop; but no opportunity was given. On 
Fi’iday evening, July 1, he was sitting on 
the seat in the park opposite the White 
House, when ho saw the President come 
out alone. He followed him down the ave¬ 
nue to Fifteenth Street, and then kept on 
the opposite side of the street up Fifteenth 
Street until the President entered the resi¬ 
dence of Secretary Blaine. He watched at 
the corner of Mr. Morton’s late residence, on 
the corner of Fifteenth and II Streets, for 
some time, and then, afraid lie would attract 
attention, ho went into the alley in the rear 
of Mr. Morton’s residence, examined his pis¬ 
tol and waited. The President and Secre¬ 
tary Blaine came out together, and lie fol¬ 
lowed them over to the gate of the White 
House, but could get no opportunity to use 
his weapon. 

“On the morning of Saturday, July 2, he 
breakfasted at the Riggs House about seven 
o’clock. He then walked up into the park 
and sat there for an hour. He then took a 
one-horse avenue car and rode to Sixth 
Street; got out and went into the depot and 
loitered around there; had his shoes blacked, 
engaged a hackman for two dollars to take 
him to the jail, went into the water-closet 
and took his pistol out of his hip-pocket and 
unwrapped the paper from around it, which 
he had put there for the purpose of prevent¬ 
ing the perspiration from the body dampen¬ 


ing the powder; examined the pistol care- 
full), tried the trigger, and then returned 
and took a seat in the ladies’ waiting-room, 
and as soon as the President entered ad¬ 
vanced behind him and fired two shots. 

Ihese facts, I think, can be relied upon 
as accurate, and T give them to the public 
to contradict certain false rumors in connec¬ 
tion with the most atrocious of atrocious 
crimes.” 

AT TIIE PRESIDENT’S HOME. 

The news from Mentor was: Mentor is 
stunned. Its people are paratyzed. They 
have shut themselves in their homes. 
Never has such a blow been received. 
“Lincoln’s death we felt to be more espe¬ 
cially a national loss,” said a white-haired 
farmer, the tears coursing their way down 
his check. “In this we see not only a loss 
to this nation, but they have taken our 
friend, our brother, they have violated the 
sanctity of our hearth-stones.” The news 
was received at eleven a.m., but was not 
credited. When substantiated it spread like 
wildfire, and from all parts of the surround¬ 
ing country farmers hurried to Mentor. 
The news that President Garfield had been 
fatally shot was brought to the home bj’ Dr. 
Robeson, his old and life-long friend, about 
half-past ten a.m. It was not believed, and 
it was not until other telegrams were re¬ 
ceived that the members of the family of 
Mr. Rudolph, Mrs. Garfield’s father, could be 
made to give credence to the news. When 
the President’s condition no longer admitted 
of doubt, old Mr. Rudolph, who had tried to 
hide his emotion and anxiety, completely 
broke down and cried like a child. Ilis son 
and daughter-in-law were also very much 
affected. 

As the news became moro generally 
known neighbors and friends came to the 
homo anxiously inquiring for additional 
news, and showing by every human mani¬ 
festation their deep and heartfelt sorrow. 
At noon Irwin and Abram Garfield, two 
sons, respectively eleven and nine years old, 
arrived from the East, and when the corre¬ 
spondent reached the home of the President 
they were playing about the lawn in happy 
ignorance of the terrible news concerning 
their father. “ We have not said a word to 
them,” said Mr. Rudolph, “ because we hoped 
that it may not be true, and now that it is 
true we almost fear to tell them.” 

FUNERAL ORATION. 

DELIVERED BY REV. ISAAC ERRETT. 

“And the archers shot at King Josiah, and the king 
said to his servants, Have ine away, for I am sore wounded, 
“ His servants therefore took him out of that chariot, 
and put him in (ho second chariot that ho had; and they 
brought him to Jerusalem, and ho died, and was buried in 
one of the sepulchres of his fathers. And all Judah and 
Jerusalem mourned for Josinh. 

<i And Jeremiah lamented for Josiah, and all the singing 


8 


JOURNAL. 

men and the singing women spake of Josiah in their lamen¬ 
tations to this day, and made them an ordinance in Israel; 

{ and, behold, they arc written in the lamentations. 

“Now the rest of the acts of Josiah, and his goodness, 
according to that which was written in the law of the Lord, 

“And his deeds, first and last, behold, they are written 
in the book of the kings of Israel and Judah. 

“For behold, the Lord, the Lord of Hosts, doth take 
away from Jerusalem and from Judah the stay and the 
staff; the whole slay of bread, and the whole stay of water. 

“ The mighty man, and the man of war, and the prophet, 
and the prudent, and the ancient. 

“The captain of fifty, and the honorable man, and the 
counsellor, and the cunning artificer, and the eloquent 
orator. 

“ The voice said, Cry. And he said, What shall I cry ? 

“All flesh is grass, and all the goodlincss thereof is as 
j the flower of the field. 

“The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: because the 
spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it. Surely the people is 
grass. 

“The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word 
of our God shall stand forever.” 

This is a time for mourning that Las no 
parallel in the history of the world. Death 
is constantly occurring every day and every 
hour, and almost every minute some life ex¬ 
pires, and somewhere there are broken hearts 
and desolate homes. But we Lave learned 
to accept the unavoidable, and we pause a 
moment and drop a tear, and are away again 
to the excitements and ambitions of life, and 
forget it all. Sometimes a life is called for 
that plunges a large community in mourn¬ 
ing, and sometimes whole nations mourn the 
loss of a good king, or a wise statesman, or 
i an eminent sage, or a great philosopher, or 
a philanthropist, or a martyr who has laid 
his life on the altar of truth and won for 
himself an enviable immortality among the 
sons of men. 

But there was never a mourning in all the 
world like unto this mourning. I am not 
speaking extravagantly, for I am told that 
it is the result of calculations carefully made 
from such data as are in possession that cer¬ 
tainly not less than three hundred millions 
of the human race share in the sadness and 
the lamentations and sorrow and mourning 
that belong to this occasion here to-day. It 
is a chill shadow of a fearful calamity that 
has extended itself into every home in all 
this land, and into every heart, and that has 
projected itself over vast seas and oceans 
into distant lands, and awakened the sin- 
cerest and profoundost sympathy with us in 
the hearts of other nations. 

it is worth while, my friends, to pause a 
moment and ask, Why this is? It is doubt¬ 
less attributable in part to the wondrous 
triumphs of science and art within the present 
century, by means of which time and space 
have been so lar conquered that nations once 
far distant and necessarily alienated from 
each other are brought into close communi¬ 
cation ; then also the various ties of com¬ 
merce and of social interests and of religious 
interests bring them into contact of fellow¬ 
ship that could not have been known in 
former times. It is likewise unquestionably 












9v> 


PRESIDENT 


JAMES A. GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL JOURNAL 


partly due to the fact that this nation of ours 
has grown to such wondrous might and 
power before the whole earth that sympathy 
with this nation and respect lor tins great 
power lead to these offerings of condolence 
and expressions of sympathy and grief. 

Yet all this will by no means account for 
this marvellous and world-wide sympathy of 
which we are speaking. Yet it cannot be 
attributed to mere intellectual greatness, for 
there have been and there are other great 
men; and, acknowledging all that the most 
enthusiastic heart could claim for our be¬ 
loved leader, it is but fair to say that there 
have been more eminent educators, there 
have been greater soldiers, there have been 
more skilful and experienced and powerful 
legislators and leaders of mighty parties and 
political forces. There is no one department 
in which lie has won eminence where the 
world may not point to others who attained 
higher and more intellectual greatness. It 
might not be considered more righteously 
here than in many other cases, yet perhaps 
it is rare in the history of nations that any 
one man has combined so much of excellence 
in all those various departments, and who, 
as an educator, and a lawyer, and a legisla¬ 
tor, and a soldier, and a party chieftain and 
ruler, has done so well, so thoroughly well, 
in all departments, and brought out such 
successful results as to inspire confidence, 
and command respect and approval in every 
path of life in which he has walked, and in 
every department of public activity which 
he has occupied. Yet, I think, when we 
come to a proper estimate of his character, 
and seek after the secret of this world-wide 
sympathy and affection, wo shall find it 
rather in the richness and integrity of his 
moral nature, and in that sincerity, and in 
that transparent honesty, in that truthful¬ 
ness that was the basis for everything of 
greatness to which wo do honor to-day. 

AN ANECDOTE OF HIS YOUTH. 

I may state here what, perhaps, is not 
generally known, as an illustration of this. 
When James A. Garfield was yet a mere lad, 
a series of religious meetings was held in one 
of the towns of Cuyahoga County, by a 
minister by no means attractive as an orator, 
possessing none of the graces of an orator, 
and marked only by entire sincerity, by good 
reasoning powers, and by earnestness in 
seeking to win souls from sin to righteous¬ 
ness. The lad Garfield attended these meet¬ 
ings for many nights, and after listening to 
the sermons night after night, he went one 
day to tho minister, and said to him, “Sir, 
1 have been listening to your preaching 
night after night, and I am fully persuaded 
that if these things you say are true, it is the 
duty and the highest interest of every man 
of respectability, and especially of every 
young man, to accept that religion, and seek 


to bo a man. But, really, I don’t know 
whether this thing is true or not. I can’t 
say that I disbelieve it, but 1 dare not sac 
that I fully and honestly believe it. If I 
were sure that it was true, I would most 


gladly give it my heart and my life.” Ho, 
after a long talk, the minister preached that 
night on the text, “ What is Truth?” and 
proceeded to show that notwithstanding all 
the various and conflicting theories and 
opinions in ethical science, and notwith¬ 
standing all the various and conflicting 
opinions in the world, there was one assured 
and eternal alliance lor every human soul in 
Jesus Christ: that every soul was safe with 


Jesus Christ; that He never would mislead ; 
that any young man giving Him his hand 
and heart, and walking in His pathway, 


would not go astray, and that whatever 
might be the solution of ten thousand in¬ 
soluble mysteries, at the end of all things 
tho man who loved Jesus Christ and walked 
after the footsteps of Jesus, and realized in 
spirit and life the pure morals and the sweet 
piety, was safe, if safety there were in the 
universe of God; safe, whatever else were 
safe; safe, whatever else might prove un¬ 
worthy and perish forever. And young 
Garfield seized upon it after due reflec¬ 
tion, and came forward and gave his hand 
to the minister in pledge of his accept¬ 
ance of the guidance of Christ for his life, 
and turned his back upon the sins of the 
world forever. The boy is father to the 
man, and that pure honesty and integrity, 
and that fearless spirit to inquire, and that 
brave surrender of all the charms of sin to 
convictions of duty and right, went with 
him from that boyhood throughout his life, 
and crowned him with the honors that were 
so cheerfully awarded to him from all hearts 
over this vast land. 


WHAT MADE HIM BELOVED BY ALL. 

There was another thing. He passed all 
the conditions of virtuous life between tbe 
log cabin in Cuyahoga and the White House, 
and in that wonderfully rich and varied ex¬ 
perience, moving up higher to higher, he 
has touched every heart in all this land at 
some point or other, and he became tbe rep¬ 
resentative of all hearts and lives in this 
land ; not only the teacher, but tbe repre¬ 
sentative of all virtues, for he know their 
wants, and he knew their condition, and he 
established legitimately the ties of brother¬ 
hood with every man with whom he came 
in contact. I take it that this vow, lying at 
the basis of his character, the rock on which 
his whole life rested, followed up by tho per¬ 
petual and enduring industry that marked 
his wholo career, made him at once tho hon¬ 
est and tho capable man, who invited and 
received, in every act of his life, the con¬ 
fidence, and trust, and love of all that learned 
to know him. 


There is yet one other thing that I ought 
to mention here. There was such an ad¬ 
mirable harmony of all his powers; there 
was such a beautiful adjustment of the phy¬ 
sical, intellectual, and moral in his bein«- • 

O f 

there was such an equitable distribution of 
the physical, intellectual, and moral forces, 
that his nature looked out every way to get 
at sympathy with everything, and found 
about equal delight in all pursuits and all 
studies, so that he became, through his in¬ 
dustry and honest ambition, really encyclo¬ 
paedic. There was scarcely any single chord 
that you could touch to which he would not 
respond in a way that made you know that 
his hands had swept it skilfully long ago; 
and there was no topic you could bring be¬ 
fore him, there was no object that you could 
present to him, that you did not wonder 
at the richness and fulness of information 
somehow gathered; for his eyes were al¬ 
ways open, and his heart was always open, 
and his brain was ever busy and equally in¬ 
terested in everything,—the minute and the 
vast, the high and the low, in all classes 
and creeds of men. 

He thus gathered up that immense store 
and that immense variety of the most val¬ 
uable and practical knowledge that made 
him a man, not in one department, hut all 
around, everywhere in his whole beautiful 
and symmetrical life and character. But, 
my friends, the solemnity of this hour forbids 
any further investigation in that line,—any 
further details of a very remarkable life, for 
with these details 3*011 are familiar, or, if not, 
they will come before 3*011 through various 
channels hereafter. 

THE LESSON IIlS LIFE TEACHES. 

It is 1113 * dut 3 *, in the presence of the dead, 
and in view of all the solemnities that rest 
upon us now, in a solemn burial service, to 
call 3 *our attention to the great lesson taught 
3 *ou, and by which wo ought to become 
wiser, purer, and better men. And I want 
to say, therefore, first of all, that there comes 
a voice from the dead to this entire nation, 
and not only to the people, but to those in 
places of trust; to our legislators, and our 
governors, and our military men, and our 
leaders of parties, and all classes and creeds 
in the Union. The great lesson to which I 
desire to call 3 *our attention can be expressed 
in a few words: James A. Garfield went 
through his whole public life without sur¬ 
rendering, for a single moment, his Christian 
integrity, his moral integrity, or his love for 
the spiritual. Coming into the exciting con¬ 
flicts of political life with a nature as capa¬ 
ble as any of feeling the force of even 7 temp¬ 
tation ; with temptations to unhoty ambition, 
with unlawful prizes within his reach, with 
even* inducement to surrender all his reli¬ 
gious faith, and bo known morety as a suc¬ 
cessful man of the world, from first to last 
























































PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


lie lias manfully adhered to his religious con¬ 
victions, and found the more praise, and 
gathers, in his death, all the pure inspiration 
of the hope of everlasting life. 

I am well aware of a feeling among polit¬ 
ical men, justly shared in, all over the land, 
by those who engage in political life, that a 
man cannot afford to be a politician and a 
Christian ; that ho must necessarily forego 
his obligations to God, and lie absorbed in 
the different measures of policy that may be 
necessary to enable him to achieve the de¬ 
sired result. Now, my friends, I call atten¬ 
tion to this grand life, as teaching a lesson 
altogether invaluable. Just at this point I 
want you to look at that man. I want you 
to think of him when, in his early manhood, 
lie was so openly committed to Christ and 
the principles of the Christian religion that 
be was frequently found, among a people 
who allow a large liberty, occupying a pul¬ 
pit. You are within a few miles of the spot 
where the great congregations gathered, 
when he was yet almost a boy, just emerging 
into manhood, week after week, and. hung 
upon the words that fell from his lips with 
wonder, admiration, and enthusiasm. 

It was when he was known to be occupy¬ 
ing this position that lie was invited to be¬ 
come a candidate for the Ohio State Senate. 
It was with the full knowledge of all that 
belonged to him, in his Christian faith and 
his efforts to lead a Christian life, that this 
was tendered him, and without any resort to 
any dishonorable means be was elected and 
began his legislative career. 

When the country called to arms, when 
the Union was in danger, and his great heart 
leaped with enthusiasm and was filled with 
holiest desire and ambition to render some 
service to his country, it required no sur¬ 
render of the dignity and nobleness of his 
Christian life to secure to him the honors 
that fell upon him so thick and fast, and the 
successes that followed each other so rapidly 
as to make him the wonder of the world, 
though he entered upon that career wholly 
unacquainted with military life, and could 
oidy win his way by the honesty of his pur¬ 
pose and the diligence and faithfulness with 
which he seized upon every opportunity to 
accomplish the work before him. 

Follow him from that time until he was 
called from the service in the field, and the 
people of his district sent him to Congress, 
their hearts gathering about him without 
any effort on his part. They kept him there 
as long as he would stay, and they would 
have kept him there yet if he had said so. Ho 
remained there until, by the voice of the peo¬ 
ple of this State, he was made Senator, when 
there were other bright, and strong, and grand 
names, — men who were entitled to recogni¬ 
tion and reward, and altogether worthy, in 
every way, to bear Senatorial honors. A r et 
there were such currents of admiration, and 


sympathy, and trust, and love coming in and 
centring from all parts of the State, that 
the action of the Legislature at Columbus 
was but the echo of the popular voice when, 
by acclamation, they gave him that place, 
and every other candidate gracefully retired. 

And then again when he went to Chicago 
to servo the interests of another; when, as 
I knew, his own ambition was fully satisfied, 
and he had received that on which his heart 
was set, and looked with more than glad¬ 
ness to a path in life for which his entire 
education and culture had prepared him. 
When wearied out with every effort to com¬ 
mand a majority for any candidate, the 
hearts of that great Convention turned on 
every side to James A. Garfield. 

In spite of himself, and against every feel¬ 
ing, wish, and prayer of his own heart, this 
honor was crowded upon him, and the nation 
responded with holy enthusiasm from one 
end of the land to the other, and in the same 
honorable way he was elected to the Chief 
Magistracy under circumstances which, how¬ 
ever great the bitterness of party conflict, 
caused all parties not only to acquiesce, but 
to feel proud in the consciousness that we 
had a Chief Magistrate of whom they need 
not be ashamed before the world, and unto 
whom they could safely confide the destinies 
of this mighty nation. 

Now, gentlemen, let me say to you all, 
those of you occupying great places of trust 
who are here to-day, and the mass of those 
who are called upon to discharge the respon¬ 
sibilities of citizenship year by year, the 
most invaluable lesson that we learn from 
the life of our beloved departed President is 
that not only is it not incompatible with suc¬ 
cess, but it is the surest means of success, to 
consecrate heart and life to that which is 
true and right, and above all questions of 
mere policy, wedding the soul to truth and 
right and the God of truth and righteous- 
ness in holy wedlock, never to be dissolved. 
I feel just at this point that we need this 
lesson. 

This great, wondrous land of ours; this 
mighty nation in its marvellous upward 
career, with its ever increasing power, open¬ 
ing its arms to receive from all lands people 
of all languages, all religions, and all con¬ 
ditions, and hoping in the warm embrace of 
political brotherhood to blend them with us, 
to melt them into a common mass, needs 
this lesson of virtue, so that when melted 
and run over again in a new type of man¬ 
hood, it will incorporate all the various na¬ 
tions of the earth in one grand brotherhood, 
presenting before the nations of the world a 
spectacle of freedom and strength and pros¬ 
perity and power beyond anything before 
known. Let mo say the permanency of the 
work and its continual enlargement must 
depend on our maintaining virtue as well as 
intelligence, and making dominant in all the 


land those principles of pure morality that 
Jesus Christ has taught us. Just as we 
cling to that we are safe; and just as we for¬ 
get and depart from that we proceed towards 
disaster and ruin; and when we see what 
has been accomplished in a mighty life like 
this, we have an instance of the power of 
truth and right which spreads from heart to 
heart, and from life to life, and from State 
to State, and finally from nation to nation, 
until these pure principles reigning every¬ 
where, God shall realize His great purpose 
so long ago expressed to us in the words of 
prophecy, that the kingdoms-of this world 
are become the kingdoms of our God and 
His Christ; so that over the dead body of 
James A. Garfield may all the people join 
hands and swear by the eternal God that 
they will dismiss all unworthy purposes, and 
love and worship the true and the right; 
and in the inspiration of the grand princi¬ 
ples that Jesus Christ taught, seek to realize 
the grand ends to which Ilis words of truth 
and right continually point us. 

I cannot prolong my remarks to any great 
extent. There are two or three things that 
I must say, however, before I close. There 
is a voice to the Church in this death that I 
cannot pause now to speak of particularly. 

THE LOSS HIS FAMILY SUSTAINED. 

There is a tenderer and more awful voice 
that speaks to the members of the family; to 
that sacred circle within which really his 
true life and character were better developed 
and more perfectly known than anywhere 
else. What words can tell the weight of 
anguish that rests upon the hearts of those 
who so dearly loved him and shared with 
him the sweet sanctities of his home, the pure 
life, the gentleness, the kindness, and the 
manliness that pervaded all his actions, and 
made his home a charming one for its in¬ 
mates and for all that shared in its hospital¬ 
ities. It is of all things the saddest, that 
those bound to him by the tenderest ties of 
the home circle are called to yield him to 
the grave; to hear that voice of love no 
more; to behold that manly form no longer 
moving in the sweet circle of home; to re¬ 
ceive no more the benediction from the 
loving hand of the father, that rested upon 
the heads of his children and commanded 
the blessings of God upon them; the dear 
old mother, who realizes here to-day that 
her fourscoro years are after all but labor 
and sorrow, to whom wo owe, back of all I 
have spoken of, the education and training 
that made him what he was, and who has 
been led from that humble home in the 
wilderness, side by side with him, in all his 
elevation, and assured him the triumph and 
the glory that came to him step by step as 
he mounted up from high to higher, to re¬ 
ceive the highest honors that the land could 
bestow upon him, left behind him, lingering 









24 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


on the shore, while he has passed over to 
the other side. What words can express 
the sympathy that is due to her, or the con¬ 
solation that can strengthen her heart and 
give her courage to bear this bitter bereave¬ 
ment ? 

And the wife, who began with him in her 
young womanhood and has bravely kept 
step with him through all his wondrous 
career, and who has been not only his wife, 
but his friend and his counsellor through all 
their succession of prosperities, and this 
increase of influence and power, and who, 
when the day of calamity came, was there, 
his ministering angel, his prophetess and his 
priestess, when the circumstances were such 
as to forbid ministrations from other hands, 
speaking to him the words of cheer which 
sustained him through that long fearful 
struggle for life, and watching over him 
when his dying vision rested on her beloved 
form, and sought from her eyes an answer¬ 
ing gaze that should speak when words 
could not be spoken of a love that has never 
died, and that now must be immortal. And 
the children who have grown up to an age 
when they can rememberall that belonged to 
him, left fatherless in a world like this, yet 
surrounded with a nation’s sympathy, and 
with a world’s affection, and able to treasure 
in their hearts the grand lessons of his noble 
and wondrous life, may be assured that the 
eyes of the nation are upon them, and that 
the hearts of the people go out after them. 
While there is much to support and encour¬ 
age, it is still a sad thing, and calls for our 
deepest sympathy, that they have lost such 
a father and are left to make their way 
through this rough world without his tnudiiur 
hand or his wise counsels. But that which 
makes this terrible to them now is just that 
which, as the years go by, will make very 
sweet and bright and joyous memories to 
fill the coming years. By this very loss 
which they deplore, and by all the loving 
actions that bound them in blessed sympathy 
in the home circle, they will live over again 
ten thousand times all the sweet life of the 
past; and though dead, he will still live with 
them ; and though his tongue be dumb in the 
grave, it will speak anew to them ten thou¬ 
sand beautiful lessons of love and righteous¬ 
ness and truth. 

May God, in Jlis infinite mercy, fold them 
in Jlis arms and bless them as they need in 
this hour of thick darkness, and hear them 
safely through what remains of the troubles 
and sorrows of their earthly pilgrimage unto 
the everlasting home where there shall he 
no more death nor crying; neither shall 
there bo any more pain, for the former 
things shall have forever passed away. We 
commit you, beloved friends, to the arms 
and the care of the Everlasting Father, who 
has promised to be the God of the widow 
and the Father of the fatherless in IIis holy 


habitation, and whose sweet promise goes 
with us through all the dark and stormy 
paths of life—“I will never leave thee nor 
forsake thee.” 

I have discharged now the solemn cove¬ 
nant and trust reposed in mo, many years 
ago, in harmony with a friendship that has 
never known a cloud; a confidence that has 
never trembled, and a love that has never 
changed. Farewell, my friend and brother; 
thou hast fought a good fight, thou hast fin¬ 
ished thy course, thou hast kept thy faith ; 
henceforth there is laid up for thee a crown 
of righteousness, which the Lord, the right¬ 
eous Judge, will give to thee in that day; 
and not unto thee alone, but unto all them 
who love JIis offering. 

O 


[From the Boston Globe.] 


How swift the sudden flash of woe 

Where all was bright as childhood’s dream, 

As if from heaven’s ethereal bow 

Ilad leaped the lightning’s arrowy gleam. 

Blot the foul deed from history’s page,— 
Let not the all-betraying sun 

Blush for the day that stains an age 
When murder’s blackest wreath was won. 

III. 

Pale on his couch the sufferer lies, 

The weary battle-ground of pain ; 

Love tends his pillow, science tries 
Her every art, alas! in vain. 

The strife endures how long! how long! 
Life, death, seems balanced in the scale, 

While round his bed a viewless throng 
Awaits each morrow’s changing tale. 


AFTER THE BURIAL 

BY OLIVER WFNDELL HOLMES. 

I. 

Fallen with autumn’s falling leaf, 

Ere yet his summer’s noon was past, 

Our friend, our guide, our trusted chief,— 
What words can match a woe so vast; 

And whose the chartered claim to speak 
The sacred grief where all have part, 
When sorrow saddens every check 
And broods in every aching heart? 

Yet Nature prompts the burning phrase 
That thrills the hushed and shrouded hall, 
The loud lament, the sorrowing praise, 

The silent tear that love lets fall. 

In loftiest verse, in lowliest rhyme, 

Shall strive unblamed the minstrel choir— 
The singers of the newborn time 
And trembling age with outworn lyre. 

No room for pride, no place for blame— 

We fling our blossoms on the grave, 

Pale—scentless—faded—all we claim, 

This only—what we had we gave. 

Ah, could the grief of all who mourn 
Blend in one voice its bitter cry, 

The wail to heaven’s high arches borne 
Would echo through the eavorned sky. 

II. 

Oh, happiest land, whose peaceful choice 
Fills with a breath its empty throne! 

God, speaking through thy people’s voice, 
Has made that voice tor once His own. 

No angry passion shakes the State, 

Whose weary servant seeks for rest,— 
And who could fear that scowling hate 
Mould strike at that unguarded breast? 

He stands, unconscious of his doom, 

In manly strength, erect, serene, — 

Around him summer spreads her bloom, _ 

He tails, what horror clothes the scene! 


In realms the desert ocean parts 

What myriads watch with tear-filled eyes, 

His pulse-beats echoing in their hearts, 

IIis breathings counted with their sighs! 

Slowly the stores of life are spent, 

Yet hope still battles with despair,— 

Will heaven not yield when knees are bent? 
Answer, O Thou that hearest prayer! 

But silent is the brazen sky,— 

On sweeps the meteor’s threatening 
train,— 

Unswerving Nature’s mute reply, 

Bound in her adamantine chain. 

Not ours the verdict to decide 

Whom death shall claim or skill shall save; 

The hero’s life though heaven denied, 

It gave our land a martyr’s grave. 

Nor count the teaching vainly sent 

How human hearts their griefs may share, 

The lesson woman’s love has lent, 

What hope may do, what faith can bear! 

Farewell! the lcaf-strown earth enfolds 
Our stay, our pride, our hopes, our fears, 

And autumn’s golden sun beholds 
A nation bowed, a world in tears. 


GENERAL GARFIELD, THE SOLDIER. 

The following article, written by David 
Graham Adec, is taken from “The United 
Service,” a monthly journal devoted to mili¬ 
tary and naval affairs, published by L. R. 
Hamersly & Co., Philadelphia. 

No purer patriot, truer soldier, or better 
man drew sword or shouldered musket for 
the preservation of his country and the res¬ 
toration of the human race to the right of 
liberty, during the late war, in behalf of the 
integrity of the Union than General Garfield. 
He seemed the embodiment of the spirit of 
freedom, justice, and nationality. His mili¬ 
tary career, though brief and not brilliant 
















PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


with opportunity, was remarkably sturdy, 
steadfast, enthusiastic, and memorable. 
Springing at a single step from the presi¬ 
dency of a civil college to the colonelcy of a 
regiment in the field of battle, his native 
talent enabled him to master almost by in¬ 
tuition the rudiments of theoretical warfare, 
to honorably compete with graduated and 
experienced officers in action, and to boldly 
meet and rout the enemy on his own ground, 
commanded by far more practically and pro¬ 
fessional lj'' trained leaders than he himself 
ever pretended to be. By a successful hand- 
to-hand struggle with an old Mexican cap¬ 
tain be earned his brigadier’s stars, and on 
the fearful, yet glorious, field of Chickamauga, 
under the eagle eye of Thomas, he won, by 
heroic bravery and devotion, the distin¬ 
guished rank of major-general of volunteers. 
The pages of Garfield’s war record are rich 
and replete with lessons of ability, love of 
country, and deathless devotion to the cause 
of humanity. His patriotism had no blem¬ 
ish. What manner of man was he who 
passed at once from self-wrought supremacy 
in walks of learning and civil life to a posi¬ 
tion of highly honorable, if not illustrious, 
eminence among the prominent and deserv¬ 
ing military heroes of his native land ? The 
glowing annals of our country tell us, whose 
recent history and his are woven tenderly 
together. 

Born of simple farmer stock, bred among 
rude Western scenes, treading the tow-path 
of the canal or felling forest-trees for a scant 
living, toiling for elemental knowledge out 
of few books, qualifying cursorily for a 
collec;e course in intervals of hard manual 
labor, graduating respectably with high 
reputation as a metaphysician, stepping to 
a professorship, and, presently, the presi¬ 
dency of an institution of science and clas¬ 
sical culture,—James Abram Garfield, at the 
moment of his yielding up the pen tor the 
unsheathed sword, had well drilled himself 
in the sterling acquirements of a lofty and 
ambitious manhood. Mentally, he possessed 
breadth and depth, thoroughly trained habits 
of thought, wide information in letters, arts, 
and science, ancient erudition, and, above all, 
systematic and philosophical arrangement of 
profound attainments. Physically, he en¬ 
joyed the advantages of a fine person, com¬ 
manding stature, robust health, a spacious, 
intellectual brow, handsome features, and a 
modest, manly bearing striking in the ex¬ 
treme. lie was a signal illustration of the 
Roman requirements of wholesome manli¬ 
ness ,—sana mens in sano corpore. This was 
the character of the citizen who fervently 
tendered his services to the republic in her 
gravest hour of trial. And what sort of 
soldier did such good material make in the 
emergency? Very soon the sequel showed. 

By December, 1801, civil war had become 
a fixed, appalling fact. The nation was rent 


to the core, and warring ranks stood front 
to front in deadly hate, the strangely fierce 
ferocity of hostile brothers. The country 
was still under the shock of the firing on 
the flag of Sumter, and spell-bound by the 
subsequent disastrous defeat at Bull Run. 
The rival Federals and Confederates were 
frowningly confronted, each waiting in im¬ 
patience for the onset of the other. Between 
the Alleghanies and the Mississippi nothing 
of moment had occurred save the short cam¬ 
paign in Western Virginia, and the quick 
advance and attack of Grant at Belmont. 
Buell was making ready to march on Bow¬ 
ling Green, when suddenly he found him¬ 
self hemmed in and hampered by two co¬ 
operating armies which were stealthily and 
skilfully creeping up and closing in upon his 
flanks. Zollicofler was on the way from 
Cumberland Gap in the direction of Mill 
Spring, and Marshall was moving down 
Sandy Valley from Virginia with the pur¬ 
pose of overrunning and securing Eastern 
Kentucky. Buell’s position was becoming 
jeopardized, and no attention could be given 
to the projected advance on Bowling Green 
until those threatening forces could be met 
and driven off. This was partly the atti¬ 
tude of affairs in the West when Garfield 
came into the arena of action at the head of 
the gallant Ohio Forty-second. He it was 
who helped, in conjunction with the immor¬ 
tal Thomas, to finally turn the tide in favor 
of the endangered Union forces and redeem 
Kentuck}*, then trembling in the balance, 
from the ruinous influences of secession and 
rebellion. Kentucky owes a debt of grati¬ 
tude to General Garfield for saving her from 
the wasting and protracted ravages of fra¬ 
tricidal war, an obligation which the State 
of the loyal Clay will not forget. 

When the war broke out Garfield was 
State Senator at Columbus, lie hesitated 
not an instant to volunteer. The three 
months’ regiments were allowed to elect 
their own officers, and upon the organiza¬ 
tion of the Ohio Seventh, Tyler was chosen 
colonel, and Garfield its lieutenant-colonel; 
but the latter’s services here were brief, for, 
during the first battle-summer, Governor 
Dennison commissioned him colonel of the 
Forty-second Ohio, a regiment not then fully 
formed, and with which his name is insepa¬ 
rably associated. This excellent body of 
troops was enlisted chiefly in Portage and 
Summit Counties, and some of the officers 
and many of the men had been students at 
Hiram under the martial president of the 
Campbcllitc Christian College. Five weeks 
were spent in the drilling of the Forty- 
second in the evolutions of Casey’s Tactics 
in Camp Chase, at the State capital, the 
colonel himself learning as ho taught the 
art of war. On December 15, in obedience 
to an order of General Buell, commanding 
the Department of the Ohio, the Forty- 


25 


second proceeded to Catlcttsville, Kentucky, 
and its young colonel reported at headquar¬ 
ters in Louisville. 

Buell was perhaps the most cultured mili¬ 
tary scholar in the army of the United 
States. Silent, stern, astute, a regular through 
and through, he naturally regarded a volun¬ 
teer with suspicion, if not aversion, until 
the volunteer proved himself a soldier, when 
dislike and distrust were changed to confi¬ 
dence and esteem. When Colonel Garfield 
reported for duty, then, his general looked 
at him with considerable curiosity. Here 
was a president of a college, and sometimes 
a preacher of piety, in a United States uni¬ 
form at the head of a regiment and ready 
for a fight. Buell’s great anxiety at the 
time was Humphrey Marshall and his com¬ 
mand stealing along the Big Sandy Valley 
to seize upon Kentucky. Pointing out the 
position of this vigorous enemy to his new 
colonel upon a map which ho had before 
him, General Buell in few but forcible words 
stated the route and numbers of the foe, and, 
fixing his steel eye upon the face of his silent 
subordinate, said, “If you were in charge of 
this sub-district, colonel, what would you 
do? Report your answer to me at nine 
o’clock to-morrow morning.” The citizen- 
soldier, with a bow of respect, withdrew. 
He was not unprepared for such an exigency, 
however. During his two or three months 
of service he had been hard at work upon 
the study of the theory of military move¬ 
ments, books on strategy as well as tactics 
having been his daily and nightly compan¬ 
ions. Sitting up engrossed in thought and 
study of the map until daylight, at nine 
o’clock sharp he laid his plan of action be¬ 
fore his superior in command. The expert 
eye of the soldier saw its merit at a glance. 
That same morning General Buell issued an 
order, to the surprise of his officers, creating 
the Eighteenth Brigade of the Army of the 
Cumberland, and assigning the author of the 
midnight plan of operations to its command, 
with the terse direction, “Proceed with the 
least possible delay to the mouth of the 
Sandy; move with the force in that vicinity 
up that river, and drive the enemy back or 
cut him off.” Distrust had given place to 
confidence. Kentucky was the purse at 
stake, but the young theorist was equal to 
the race, for the disciplined mind can turn 
with equal facility, and grasp and scope, to 
almost any toil of brain demanded, and the 
simple problem was to save Kentucky to the 
Union. 

Marshall was believed to be advancing 
upon Lexington in order to unite with Zolli- 
coffer in an attempt to capture the capital of 
the State, and Marshall was the man who had 
led the plucky charge of the Kentucky Volun¬ 
teers at the battle of Buena Vista. Garfield 
had in his brigade about two thousand four 
hundred men all told, eleven hundred of whom 









26 


PRESID1 


UNT JAMES A. GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL JOURNAL 


wove ut Paris, Kentucky, and the remainder, 
consisting of his own Ohio regiment and the 
half-formed Kentucky Fourteenth, in camp 
at Catlettsburg; nearly a hundred miles of 
mountain thronged with armed rebels lying 
between these points. On the 22d of Decem¬ 
ber the citizen-colonel was at the latter place, 
his little force there having been just thrown 
forward, by his order, some thirty miles up 
the Big Sandy to Louisa, where he immedi¬ 
ately joined it upon arranging for the for¬ 
warding of sufficient supplies of food. On 
the 24lh he was in the field. The story ot 
the Big Sandy campaign will be read here¬ 
after with interest, for upon it mainly de¬ 
pends General Garfield’s fame as a comman¬ 
der. Chickamauga displayed the soldier and 
patriot in the glowing light of a fearless and 
spirited hero, but with less pretension or 
opportunity as a general, although for dar¬ 
ing, discretion, and devotion to duty on that 
desperate day, President Lincoln bestowed 
upon him his triple stars. Garfield won his 
laurels promptly; his spurs at the Big Sandy; 
his stars at Chickamauga, besides evincing 
his zeal and ability in the presence of the 
general of his special love and honor always, 
who sensibly felt the value of the younger 
officer's services to his country, respected 
him accordingly, and esteemed him ever as 
his son. Whoever has heard Garfield allude 
in private or public to the “ Rock of Chicka- 
mau<ra,” well knows the admiration and en- 
thusiasm of his 


great 


regard for General 


George H. Thomas. 

General Garfield was at this time a man 
of thirty years, and a soldier of six months. 
He had never seen an armed enemy or a 
bayonet charge, or heard a cannon fired in 
the field, or known the deadly danger of a 
line of battle. Yet he found himself at the 
head of four regiments of infantry and eight 
companies of cavalry, and not only responsi¬ 
ble for their lives and conduct, but also for 
the salvation of a State. Marshall, a com¬ 
petent commander, had with him some five 
thousand men, well drilled, supplied, and 
equipped, and eager for a brush with the 
Yankees. The Union general had two things 
to do Avithout delay,—namely, open commu¬ 
nication with his eleven hundred men under 
Colonel Cranor, and form an immediate junc¬ 
tion with that body in the presence of a 
strong and superior army, perfectly cogni¬ 
zant of his object and its vital desirability, 
and possessing every facility of preventing 
its attainment. 

A trustworthy scout must first be pro¬ 
cured. Consultation with Colonel Moore, of 
the Fourteenth Kentucky, resulted in the 
selection of a faithful Scotchman named Jor¬ 
dan. The colonel commanding read him 
over carefully. “ Will you die rather than 
let this dispatch be taken?” he asked. “I 
will,” answered the man. “Very well,” said 
the student of men as well as books; “ I will 


trust you.” At midnight of the second day 
thereafter the message was handed safely to 
Colonel Cranor, who had gone forward as 
far as McCormick’s Gap. It was dated 
“Midnight, December 24,” and ordered him 
to march his column at once to Prcstonburg. 
At dawn next day Cranor’s force was in mo¬ 
tion for the front, with every nerve strained. 
On the way it was to pick up about three 
hundred cavalry under Lieutenant-Colonel 
Wool ford, stationed at Stamford, the whole 
number of the little army then amounting 
to only fourteen hundred men, but all 
fighters. 

The Big Sandy, a muddy, shoal river run¬ 
ning into the Ohio through the Cumberland 
spurs, is only navigable to Louisa, except 
for small, shallow scoavs, which may be 
pushed or pulled along as far as Piketon. 
In midwinter this stream is low and narrow, 
and the poor roads of that country are next 
to impassable from mire. Garfield decided 
to rely mainly on mud-scows or flat-boats 
for transportation of camp supplies, and his 
scant army-train of mules, horses, and Avag- 
ons, for cannon he had none. Preparing ten 
days’ rations and filling his cartridge-boxes, 
Colonel Garfield placed part of his little force 
on board of all the scoavs and flat-boats he 
could muster and impress, and set off in 
search of Humphrey Marshall. It was New 
Year’s Day, 1862. What a contrast the 
scene there to that of the civil social life in 
cities at the same hour, Avhore safe and happy 
callers were exchanging visits and the com¬ 
pliments of the season in cosey, fire-lit par¬ 
lors ! 

The march through the mud of the rough 
roads alongside the ice-lined stream Avas slow 
and painful, an average day’s rate of travel 
being but five or six miles, so that it Avas 
the 6th of January when the Union army 
reached a point seven miles distant from 
Paintville, near where, it was reported, Mar- 
shall had made a stand. At midnight of 
that day Colonel Garfield Avas aroused from 
heavy sleep, after the fatigues and exhaus¬ 
tion of the journey, in a wretched log hut 
Avhere he lay, by a sentry, who stated that 
a man Avanted to see him upon urgent busi¬ 
ness. lie bade him to be admitted. It Avas 
Jordan. “Back safe?” asked the colonel, 
at once awake and alert. “ I am.” “ Have 
you seen Cranor?” “Yes, colonel.” “Well?” 
“ He can’t be more than tvvo days’ march 
behind me.” “ You have done us a great 
service, Jordan,” said Garfield, warmly 
grasping his hand. « That is more pay than 
I expected !” exclaimed the mud-stained and 
weary but delighted scout. 

I resently a picket came in with news that 
the enemy, several thousand stron<r 
certainly encamped at Paintville, r 
Gently expecting an attack on tl 


were 
, and impa¬ 
le following 


Union camp. Then arose the anxious ques¬ 
tion among the officers, “ W ill Ave move at 

The 


su, ’ c ofl > victory. At day- 

l"cak all was busllo and preparation in tbo 


once or must we Avait lor Cranor ?’ 
matter was settled at sunrise. “ Forward, 
march I” was the explicit order which came 
from the log shanty, to the relief ot the 
brave fellows. There Avcre three approaches 
to Paintville. One was easterly, by the 
bank of the Sandy; another westerly, to the 
right of the village; and the other, the 
straight way, running between the right and 
left roads over jagged, perpendicular ridges, 
by broken paths, steep and stumpy and 
stony. These Avere all held by rebel pickets, 
Avhile a regiment was outlying in the van of 
the town, commanding the direct defile over 
the mountain. 

Garfield decided to try stratagem, know- 
ing that Marshall Avas an old campaigner 
and too wily and wary to suspect a mere 
beginner of shrewdness. Throwing out a 
small force of infantry and cavalry along 
the east or river road, with directions to 
drive in the pickets there, a couple of hours 
after he sent off a similar detachment of 
skirmishers by the Avest or right road, and 
at about the same interval of time still an¬ 
other party of attack by way of the middle 
or mountain road. The first body duly 
drove in the pickets on the river-bank, who, 
flying homeward to headquarters, reported 
to Marshall that the enemy were advancing 
by that route in force, and he excitedly 
hurried off a thousand infantry, Avith a bat¬ 
tery of six-pounders, to protect that ap¬ 
proach. The same result took place Avith 
the western pickets, who likeAvise fled, and 
in accordance Avith their report, the rebel 
infantry and battery Avere hastily recalled 
and urged to the defence of the right road. 
A couple of hours later the encouraged 
Union troops, impetuously scaling the rocks, 
drove in the pickets of this last or central 
pass, and these, finding the town deserted 
by its vigilant guard, which had been with- 
drawn to the support of either wing in turn, 
carried in the story to the rebel camp that 
the enemy Avere at the threshold of Paint¬ 
ville. In alarm Marshall accordingly called 
in his roving and rambling regiment and 
battery, and took up a fortified position in 
the rear of the village, Avell protected by his 
guns. As the picket fled, Garfield, rapidly 
advancing by the middle road across the 
ridges, took possession of the abandoned set¬ 
tlement and hoisted the Stars and Stripes 
over the wavering population of Paintville. 
Then, Federal and Confederate lay face to 
lace for the moment, each anxious and im¬ 
patient for the impending struggle of the 
morrow. 

Late in the evening of the 8th of January 
a spy came into the rebel camp Avith news 
that Cranor and his regiment were close 
at hand to join the little force of Garfield. 
Marshall straightway determined to stain- 



















27 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


podo in the darkness. Colonel Garfield was 
surprised at midnight to see a great fire 
ablaze in the Confederate camp, and, mount¬ 
ing his horse and placing himself at the head 
of his regiment, rode forward only to find a 
deserted position and the retreating enemy 
out of sight, while his munitions and stores 
flamed and smoked upon the clouds of the 
night. lie at once surmised that Cranor 
must be near, and joyfully awaited the arrival 
of his reinforcement. In the morning the 
trusty regiment marched gayly into camp, 
cheering and cheered, and with their battle- 
flags flying in the winter wind. It was the 
Oth of January, and the day before the first 
glorious defeat of rebellion and the redemp¬ 
tion of Kentucky from the treacherous toils 
of secession. The signal and decisive battle 
of Middle Creek was at hand. After break¬ 
fast and many glad hand-shakings, Garfield 
ordered his impatient forces to march towards 
the foe. They advanced slowly and surely 
until dusk, when they went into bivouac on 
the top of Abbott’s Hill. It was a raw night, 
with a bleak north blast and falling rain, and 
camp-fires before drenched tents were rudely 
blown out by the fitful chilly gusts. Yet 
men slept soundly before the action, on the 
very brink of death and wounds far worse 
than death. 

The morning’s engagement began with 
the Union skirmishers sweeping the Con¬ 
federate cavalry in repulse from the heights 
in front of Garfield’s position, beyond which 
protecting ridges the enemy was massed. 
At noon the Federals occupied this crest, 
and could look down upon the ranks of the 
hostile host below. The ground was fully 
exposed to view, the battle-field of Middle 
Creek, with its meadow, marshes, and 
marching men. It was watered by an in¬ 
land rivulet and traversed by a rough road 
about ten feet broad; on either side of the 
stream and highway steep, pointed rocks, 
rising a few hundred feet, overhung the 
bush-grown, swampy banks. The enemy 
were seen to hold the two ridges on the left 
of the creek, while a battery of twelve 
pieces at the forks of the little river was 
ready to rake that approach. To the right 
a heavy detachment was massed. Marshall’s 
plan was evidently to enfilade the advancing 
column of attack by an artillery fire. Colo¬ 
nel Garfield’s quick eye, however, in an 
instant saw through the purposes of his 
adversary’s able disposition of his resources, 
and enabled him to skilfully avoid the dan¬ 
gerous trap. He decided to storm the over¬ 
hanging heights, an operation of great diffi¬ 
culty. A band of bis own college-boys was 
ordered to swim the creek and scale the 
abrupt ascent. With a shout they plunged 
into the icy water, holding their muskets 
and cartridge-boxes abovo their heads, soon 
gained the opposite bank, and commenced 
the sharp climb, under the stinging fire of a 


thousand small-arms from the swarm of 
gray backs on the sides and summit of the 
cliff. “ To the trees !” was the order of the 
Union officers. Under cover of the trunks 
and stumps they sought refuge ; but Garfield 
saw that they were helpless to seize the 
hill and ordered on the support. Five 
hundred men of the Fortieth and Forty- 
second Ohio, commanded by Colonel Cranor 
and Major Pardee, rushed to the rescue but 
to be driven down the plane after a despe¬ 
rate hand-to-hand fight with the death¬ 
dealing foe, while the rebel cannon were 
brought to bear with fury on the main body 
of the boys in blue. Then Garfield called 
up his rifles, having no artillery-, and the 
enemy’s battery was forced to fly, as the 
battle raged along the ragged ridge. The 
crest was a crown of fire. Sharper and 
sharper rattled the musketry. Thicker and 
thicker fell the ranks of dead and dving. 
All day long, until the sun set in clouds, the 
struggle ebbed and flowed. As the sun 
sank out of sight and the twilight descended, 
as if to throw a mantle of concealment over 
the dreadful scene, Garfield with spirit 
threw forward his reserve. All or nothing! 
On ran the valiant line of Federals, firing 
volley after volley, and charging with the 
bayonet any rallying group of Confederates, 
until by sheer force of metal they hurled 
the rebels from the peaks of the rocky and 
rugged mount, and planted on its top their 
bullet-riddled colors. It was a glorious 
ending of an anxious day indeed. Writes 
Captain Mason, in his graphic history of the 
Ohio Forty-second,— 

“ The battle of Middle Creek, trifling 
though it may be considered in comparison 
with later contests, was the first substantial 
victory won for the Union cause. At Big 
Bethel, Bull Run, in Missouri, and at various 
points at which the Union and Confederate 
forces had come in contact, the latter had 
been uniformly victorious. The people of 
the North, giving freely of their men and 
substance in response to each successive 
call of the government, had long and 
anxiously watched and waited for a gleam 
of victory to show that Northern valor was 
a match for Southern impetuosity in the 
field. They had waited in vain since the 
disaster at Bull Run during the previous 
summer, and hope had almost yielded to 
despair. This story of Garfield’s success at 
Middle Creek came, therefore, like a bene¬ 
diction to the Union cause. Though won 
at a comparatively small cost, it was decisive 
so far as concerned the purposes of that im¬ 
mediate campaign. Marshall’s force was 
driven from Kentucky and made no further 
attempt to occupy the Sandy Valley. The 
important victories at Mill Spring, Forts Don- 
elson and Henry, and the repulse at Shiloh 
followed. The triumph at Middlo Creek 
proved the first wave of a returning tide.” 


The morning after the battle, Colonel 
Garfield issued this stirring and spirited 
congratulatory address to his gallant little 
army of victors : 

“Soldiers of tiie Eighteenth Brigade: 
I am proud of you all! In four weeks you 
have marched, some eighty, and some a 
hundred miles, over almost impassable roads. 
One night in four you have slept, often in 
the storm, with only a wintry sky above 
your heads. You have marched in the faco 
of a foe of more than double your numbers, 
led on by chiefs who have won a national 
renown under the old flag, intrenched in 
hills ol his own choosing, and strengthened 
by all the appliances of military art. With 
no experience but the consciousness of your 
own manhood, you have driven him from 
his strongholds, pursued his inglorious flight, 
and compelled him to meet you in battle. 
When forced to fight, he sought the shelter 
of rocks and hills. You drove him from his 
position, leaving scores of his blood}' dead 
unburied. His artillery thundered against 
you, but you compelled him to flee by the 
light of his burning stores, and to leave 
even the banner of his rebellion behind him. 
I greet you as brave men! Our common 
country will not forget you. She will not 
forget the sacred dead who fell beside you, 
nor those of your comrades who won scars 
of honor on the field. I have recalled you 
from the pursuit that you may regain vigor 
for still greater exertions. Let no one 
tarnish his well-earned honors by any act 
unworthy an American soldier. Remember 
your duties as American citizens, and 
sacredly respect the rights and property of 
those with whom you may come in contact. 
Let it not be said that good men dread the 
approach of an American army. Officers 
and soldiers, your duty has been nobly done. 
For this I thank you ! 

“ J. A. Garfield, 

“ Colonel Commanding Brigade.” 

o o 

At the receipt of the news of Garfield’s 
triumph over Marshall, and the repulse and 
rout of the rebel army of invasion, General 
Buell issued the following order: 

“ HEADQUARTERS, DEPARTMENT OP OlIlO, 

“Louisville, Ivy., January 20, 1S62. 

“ General Order, No. 40. 

“The general commanding takes occasion 
to thank General Garfield and his troops for 
their successful campaign against the rebel 
force under General Marshall on the Big 
Sandy, and their gallant conduct in battle. 
They have overcome formidable difficulties 
in the character of the country, condition of 
the roads, and the inclemency of the season; 
and, without artillery, have in several en¬ 
gagements, terminating in the battle of Mid¬ 
dle Creek, on the 10th instant, driven the 













28 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


enemy from his intrenched position and 
forced him hack into the mountains, with a 
loss of a large amount of baggage and stores, 
and many of his men killed or captured. 
These services have called into action the 
highest qualities of a soldier,—fortitude, per¬ 
severance, and courage. 

“By order, Don Carlos Buell, 

“ Major-General Commanding.” 

The War Department, also, in acknowl¬ 
edgment and appreciation of Garfield’s 
soldierly services in the action of Middle 
Creek, his subsequent breaking up of Mar¬ 
shall’s last stand at Pound Gap, and the ulti¬ 
mate saving of Kentucky to the Union, made 
him abriffadier-ueneral, his commission com- 
plimentarily bearing date the day of the 
victory, January 10, 1862. From that hour 
the country learned to know his name as 
that of an earnest, energetic, and efficient 
officer of the United States. The literary 
and studious chief of ii college had become 
at a bound the distinguished general of 
volunteers. Is not a trained mind a mine 
of wealth to the community as well as the 
possessor ? 

It may be of interest to give the views of 
one or two eminent civilians as to the mili¬ 
tary merits of General Garfield in his memor¬ 
able campaign of the Big Sandy. AVritcs 
Whitelaw Reid, in his “Ohio in the War,” 
“Later criticism will confirm the general 
verdict then passed upon the Sandy Valley 
campaign. It was the first of the brilliant 
scries of successes which made the spring of 
1862 so memorable. Mill Spring, Fort Henry, 
Fort Donelson, Nashville, Island No. 10, and 
Memphis followed in quick succession, but it 
was to Garfield’s honor that he opened this 
season of victories. IIis plans, as we have 
seen, were based on sound military princi¬ 
ples; the energy which ho threw into their 
execution was thoroughly admirable, and 
his management of the raw volunteers was 
such that they acquired the fullest confidence 
in their commander, and endured the hard¬ 
ships of the campaign with fortitude not 
often shown in the first field-service of new 
troops. But the operations were on a small 
scale, and their chief significance lay in the 
capacity they developed, rather than in their 
intrinsic importance.” 

Writes Edmund Kirke, enthusiastically, of 
the battle of Middle Creek, “In the history 
of the late war there is not another like it. 
Measured by the forces engaged, the valor 
displayed, and the results that followed, it 
throws into the shade the achievements of 
even that mighty host that saved the nation. 
Eleven hundred foot-sore and weary men, 
without cannon, charged up a rocky hill, 
over stumps, over stones, over fallen trees, 
over high intrenchmcnts, right into the face 
of over five thousand fresh troops with twelve 
pieces of artillery.” 


Says Judge Clarke, himself one of the old 
Forty-second, “And during it all, Garfield 
was the soldier’s friend. Such was his affec- 
tion for the men that he would divide his 
last ration with them, and nobody ever 
found anything better at headquarters than 
the rest got.” 

“ He was formed,” saj’S Riddle, “ for a 
soldier’s idol.” 

At the close of his famous campaign 
against Marshall, Garfield’s prompt promo¬ 
tion for military prowess resulted in a per¬ 
sonal misfortune. He was compelled to 
separate from his beloved regiment in assum¬ 
ing a general’s command, nor ever again did 
the Forty-second serve with its old colonel 
under whom it had won such abiding honors 
in the vicissitudes of the war, although his 
affections always fondly clung round its early 
memories. 

General Garfield, in his manly modesty, 
far underrated his signal achievements at 
Middle Creek. He was wont to say when 
the victory was alluded to by others, and 
pressed to a remark, “ It was a very rash 
and imprudent affair on my part. If I had 
been an officer of more experience I probably 
should not have made the attack. Practical 
war produces prudence. As it was, having 
gone into the army with the notion that fighting 
was our business, I didn't know any better." If 
others of our officers had made the same 
mistake as Grant and Garfield in this respect, 
with a similar result, doubtless they would 
have been only too willingly forgiven by a 
grateful country. Many more tributes and 
testimonials on the part of understanding 
critics to the satisfactory nature of the action 
at Middle Creek might be given, but we 
must hasten on to the glories of Pittsburg 
Landing and Chickamauga, in which Gar¬ 
field bore an associate share with a host of 
-glowing heroes and patriots of the Union; 
but, as he did not hold an independent com¬ 
mand, the recital of his career will be less 
ample than in the preceding pages. 

When Garfield reached Louisville the 
Army of the Ohio was already beyond 
Nashville on its way to join Grant at Pitts¬ 
burg Landing. He accordingly reported to 
General Buell near Columbia, and was as¬ 
signed to the command of the Twentieth 
Brigade, in the division of General Thomas 
J. Wood. On the morning of April 6, 1862, 
Wood was at Savannah, when he received 
this order from General Grant: “ You will 
move your command, with the utmost dis¬ 
patch, to the river at this point, where 
steamers will he in readiness to convoy you 
to Pittsburg.” After the check of the Fed- 
erals on the morning of the 6th, it was de¬ 
cided on the same evening that the fresh 
Ohio troops were to form upon the left of 
the line when the battle should be renewed 
next day. The ferries were active all ni-dit 
conveying our forces across the river to be 


placed in position on the field. Grant’s firm 
orders were, “As soon as it is light enough 
to see, attack with a heavy skirmish line, 
and when you have found the enemy throw 
upon him your whole force, leaving no reserve" 
When the morning broke, as quickly as the 
Ohio boys came up they were put into action. 
About 1 p.m., Garfield, with his gallant bri¬ 
gade, reached the front, and with a wild 
Western cheer dashed full at the rebel line, 
breaking it at that point, and aiding and 
sharing in the glorious fortunes of the day. 
On the 9th the War Department issued the 
following order: “The thanks of the De¬ 
partment are hereby given to Generals 
Grant and Buell, and their forces, for the 
glorious repulse of Beauregard, at Pittsburg, 
in Tennessee.” 

After Shiloh, General Garfield was for a 
while employed in bridge-building, reopen¬ 
ing railroads, and constructing military 
ways. Then he was detailed upon court- 
martial duty in the respective cases of Colo¬ 
nel Turchin and Fitz-Jolm Porter. When 
at Washington he favorably impressed Gen¬ 
eral Hunter, who applied to have him in 
his own command in South Carolina, but the 
battle of Stone River again changed his fate. 
Colonel Garesche, General Rosecrans’s chief 
of staff, was killed in the field, and the Secre¬ 
tary of War appointed General Garfield to 
that responsible position in January, 1863. 
At that memorable time General Rosecrans 
commanded the Army of the Cumberland, 
and General Grant the Army of the Ten¬ 
nessee. The Army of the Potomac was 
operating against Richmond ; the Army of 
the Tennessee was preparing to invest Vicks¬ 
burg ; the Army of the Cumberland, which 
had been united with the Army of the Ohio, 
was in camp at Murfreesborough. V hen 


Garfield reported to General Rosecrans, the 
latter was in some doubt as to tbe value of 
his new chief of staff. Said he, “When Gar¬ 
field arrived, I must confess I had a preju¬ 
dice against him, as I understood he was a 
preacher who had gone into politics, and a 
man of that cast I was naturally opposed 
to. I found him to be a competent and effi¬ 
cient officer, an earnest and devoted patriot, 
and a man of the highest honor.” An instant 


and lasting friendship was formed between 
tbe old regular and the young volunteer. 
Garfield’s assignment gave general satisfac¬ 
tion. He became a favorite with the soldiery. 
A personal description is thus given of him 
by Edmund Kirke: “In a corner by tbe win¬ 
dow, seated at a small pine desk, a sort of 
packing-box perched on a long-legged stool 
and divided into pigeon-holes, was a tall, 
deep-chested, sinewy-built man, with regulai 
massive features, a full, clear blue e)e, 
slightly tinted with gra} r , and a high, broad 
forehead, rising into a ridge over the e)cs, 
as if it had been thrown up by a plough. 
There was something singularly engaging 











PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


21) 


in his open, expressive lace, and his whole 
appearance indicated great reserve power. 
Ilis uniform, though cleanly brushed, and 
fitting easily upon him, had a sort of demo¬ 
cratic air, and everything about him seemed 
to denote that he was ‘ a man of the people.’ 
A rusty slouched hat, large enough to have 
fitted Daniel Webster” (the size eight and 
one-seventh), “ lay on the desk before him, 
but a glance at that was not needed to con¬ 
vince me that his head held more than the 
common share of brains. Though he is yet 
young,—not thirty-three,—the reader has 
heard of him, and if he lives he will make 
his name long remembered in our history.” 
Garfield’s associates upon the staff were 
Captain Thompson, Major Bond, Colonel 
Miehler, Captain Brooke, Major Porter, and 
Major McMichael. 

General Ilosecrans’s justifiable quarrels 
with the War Department are too well re¬ 
membered to need retelling here : suffice it 
to say, in this connection, that his chief of 
staff did his best to calm the fiery spirit of 
his respected superior and keep the govern¬ 
ment at Washington as amiable as possible, 
—no easy task. From the 4th of January 
until the 24th of June poor Itosecrans lay 
at Murfreesborough expecting necessary re¬ 
inforcements, which never came. At length, 
weary of waiting, and heartsore with dis¬ 
appointment, he called his corps commanders 
to him in his tent, and formally consulted 
them as to the propriety of an onward move¬ 
ment. The same evening the advice of his 
division, brigade, and cavalry generals was 
also asked. Out of seventeen written opin¬ 
ions not one was in favor of an advance. 
Garfield sadly read the seventeen letters, 
and, with the consent of'his chief, proceeded 
to answer them seriatim. Ilis reply carried 
conviction to the mind of his commanding 
officer at least, and a forward march was 
promptly ordered. The result of Garfield’s 
judgment was the signally successful cam¬ 
paign of Tullahoma. Bragg received a se¬ 
vere - check, and would have been entirely 
destroyed but for the extraordinary violence 
of the storms of that most inclement season. 
As it was, he was forced out of Shelbyville, 
Wartraee, and Tullahoma, and finally, in hot 
haste, of Chattanooga. Longstreet’s veteran 
arm}’, however, was now on its way from 
Northern Virginia to reinforce Bragg, when 
Chattanooga would be threatened, if not en¬ 
dangered, with its small force of occupation, 
which so gallantly but inadequately held it 
against all odds. Up to this moment every 
item of General Garfield’s anticipations had 
come to pass. lie had said, in his reply to 
the seventeen generals, “ You have, in my 
judgment, wisely delayed a general move¬ 
ment hitherto, till your army could bo 
massed and your cavalry could be mounted. 
Your mobile force can now be concentrated 
in twenty-four hours, and your cavalry, if 
4 


not equal in numerical strength to that of 
the enemy, is greatly superior in efficiency. 
For these reasons I believe an immediate 
advance of all our available forces is advisa¬ 
ble, and, under the providence of God, will 
be successful.” Whitelaw Reid pronounces 
this paper “the ablest military document 
submitted by a chief of staff to his superior 
during the war.” 

Bragg in alarm gathered in every possible 
reinforcement, Longstreet from Virginia, 
Buckner from Tennessee, Walker from Jo¬ 
seph Johnson’s army, a detachment of Geor¬ 
gia militia, and whatever else offered. He 
had had some forty-two thousand muskets 
and sabres before Tullahoma, now he had 
got together certainly not less than seventy- 
five thousand fighting men, with the purpose 
of hurling himself upon Chattanooga and 
annihilating Itosecrans and his little army 
at a single blow. Roscerans wisely antici¬ 
pated his action, and, marching boldly and 
rapidly upon him, precipitated the brilliant 
battle of Chickamauga. Itosecrans claimed 
that Bragg’s army numbered ninety-two 
thousand. The Union troops amounted to 
fifty-five thousand, all told. Bragg’s design, 
when he found himself grappled, seems to 
have been to turn the Federal left flank and 
thus open the way to Chattanooga. Itose¬ 
crans, divining this danger with soldierly 
instinct and intuition, sent reinforcements 
to Thomas, who held this point, at once, but 
none too soon, for the first shock of the im¬ 
petuous rebel charge had shaken the left a 
little. However, Thomas instantly recov¬ 
ered and drove back the enemy with great 
gallantry, regaining all that had been lost, 
and firmly holding his exposed position and 
splendidly bearing the brunt of the enemy’s 
fiercest onslaught throughout the terrible 
day. For his stable tenacity and wall-like 
firmness of bearing under the severest strain 
of attack General George II. Thomas was 
well christened by his brave command and 
grateful and unforgetful country, the Rock 
of Chickamauga, for surely he showed the 
true granite grit of American will and per¬ 
severance and courage under the stress of 
hardest trial. During the eventful day the 
rest of the line thoroughly sustained itself, 
though largely outnumbered, and at night 
only, when darkness broke up the battle for 
a few hours, was it known how perilous the 
posture of affairs had really been, when the 
fact was told that every brigade in the army 
with but two exceptions had been brought into 
the struggle during the engrossing hours of 
action to sustain the thin and broken line 
and beat back the desperate foe. 

Discouraged by his unavailing assaults on 
the Union left, Bragg made ready that night 
to redouble his efforts in the same direction. 
Apprehending this, Ilosecrans transferred 
Negley’s division to Thomas’s corps, placing 
two more in reserve to aid in ease of un¬ 


usual strain. Before Negley could reach 
Thomas, however, the battle had been re¬ 
sumed. At daylight it began to rage with 
unabated fury. On Thomas’s front and flunk 
the tempest broke. Recognizing the immi¬ 
nence of the situation, Itosecrans ordered 
over Van Cleve’s division from his right, 
directing the other divisions to close up 
the open line. In the confusion General 
Wood, of Kentucky, unfortunately misun¬ 
derstood the order, and, though realizing 
that to break the engaged line of battle 
would prove fatal, literally obeyed his mis¬ 
taken conception of the command and moved 
off to the rear. Longstreet, with surprise, 
perceived the unusual movement, and, with 
supreme presence of mind, instantly flung 
Hood into the breach, cutting off the right 
from the centre and left, and crumbling the 
devoted right wing to powder. It was the 
end of brave McCook’s corps, and the gallant 
fellows who had so pluckily striven for vic¬ 
tory fell back in confusion to Chattanooga. 
Roscerans himself was whirled into the foam¬ 
ing eddy of defeat. Writes Riddle, “The 
tramping flood of mere human beings, reft 
of reason, caught the general and chief of 
staff in the rush. One eye-witness says that 
the conduct of the two men, stripped in an 
instant of all power to command by the dis¬ 
solving of the charm of discipline, was su¬ 
perb. Garfield, dismounted, with his figure 
above the surging mass and his resonant 
voice heard above the din, seized the colors 
from the fleeing bearer, who had instinct¬ 
ively borne them off, planted them, seized 
men to the right and left, faced them about, 
and formed the nucleus of a stand, shouting 
his ringing appeals in the ears ot unhearing 
men, reft of all human attributes. His exer¬ 
tions were vain.” It was plain to Garfield 
that the battle was lost but for the amazing 
and indomitable stand of Thomas and the 
unwavering left, fire-fringed with the flame 
and smoke of deadly fight, but it was his 
duty to stay by the side of his chief, who 
could see no way ot helping his sturdy sub¬ 
ordinate (Thomas) to redeem the day, borne 
back as he himself was by the unreasoning 
flood. Writes Brisbin, “Garfield followed 
his commander about half way to Chatta¬ 
nooga. Riding up to Roscerans, ho said, 

1 General, I ask permission to return and join 
General Thomas' Some slight remonstrance 
was made, but Garfield persevered in his 
desire, and obtained permission.”* Writes 

•s The circumstances under which General Garfield pro¬ 
ceeded to join General Thomas on the occasion hero 
alluded to have been recently made the subject of a 
communication from General Itosecrans to the editor of 
the San Francisco Chronicle, from which we extract as 
follows : 

“ When Davis’s two brigades, next to Sheridan’s divi¬ 
sion on the right, were broken, and that division thereby 
temporarily separated from the rest of the army, General 
Garfield, my chief of staff, and Major Frank S. Bond, 
senior aide, accompanied me towards the rear of our centre. 
When we reached a point near the forks of the Dry Valley 

















30 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


Riddle, “Garfield’s mission was by a long 
and perilous ride, crossing the lines of the 
fleeing and their pursuers, having an orderly 
killed on the way. Finally, almost alone, lie 
reached Thomas, half circled by a cordon of 
fire, and explained the untoward fate of the 
right. lie informed him how he could with¬ 
draw his own right, form on a new line, and 
meet Longstrcet, who had turned Thomas’s 
right and was marching on his rear. The 
movement was suddenly made, hut the line 
was too short to reach ground that would 
have rendered it unassailable save in front. 
At that time Gordon Granger came up with 
Steadman’s division, met Longstreet at the 
opening thus left, and altera fearful struggle 
forced him hack. Thomas, the army and its 
honor, notwithstanding the disaster on the 
right, were saved. It is said, as night closed 
on that awful day with the warm stream of 
blood from the ghastly wounded and lately 
killed rising from the burdened earth, that 
Garfield and Granger, on foot, personally 
directed the loading and pointing of a bat¬ 
tery of Napoleons, and sent their shot crash- 


road, on which our right rested, and the Rossville road, 
leading up to our left, I addressed General Garfield as 
follows : 

“ 1 By the sound of battle we yet hold the field ; hut we 
do not know with what force the enemy may come down 
the Dry Valley road through the gap just opened. General 
Post’s brigade is over the ridge to our west, in the valley 
of Chattanooga Creek, with all our commissary stores, and 
Mitchell, with the cavalry, is south of him. Sheridan, cut 
off from us, is on the ridge coming down this way. Orders 
must go to Post to move with the utmost dispatch with 
his commissary train down Chattanooga Creek across into 
Chattanooga. Mitchell must be ordered to cover the 
movement with his cavalry, extending his left across the 
ridge this way to connect in this valley with General 
Sheridan’s command and the remnants of Davis’s division, 
which will concentrate on this road and cover it, keeping 
the enemy from penetrating to our rear unless too heavily 
pushed. General Spear must be ordered to guard the 
bridge across Chattanooga Creek at the rolling-mill, and 
he ready to move to the front, if required, as soon as out- 
commissary train has passed over it. Wagner, with his 
brigade, now in Chattanooga, must be ordered to park our 
spare artillery train defensively in the best position and 
be ready to defend it in any emergency. 

“ ‘Do you think you can give these orders?’ 

“ General Garfield replied, ‘ General Rosecrans, they are 
too many and important for me to feel sure of doing so.’ 

“ I said, ‘ They are indispensable precautions in the 
present condition of things, and one of us must give them 
while the other must go to General Thomas and ascertain 
how the battle goes there.’ 

“ lie replied, ‘ I can go to General Thomas and report 
the situation to you much better than I can givo those 
orders.’ 

“ I said, ‘ Well, go and tell General Thomas my precau¬ 
tions to hold the Dry Valley road and secure our commis¬ 
sary stores and artillery and to report the situation to me, 
and to use his discretion as to continuing the fight on the 
ground we occupy at the close of the afternoon, or retiring 
to a position in the roar near Rossville.’ 

“ He obeyed these orders gallantly and well, and by the 
time I had made the disposition above alluded to and 
reached the telegraph office, I got a dispatch from General 
Garfield over the line from Rossville announcing that, 
having held the field till the close of the day, in pursuance 
of my directions to use his discretion, General Thomas had 
decided to withdraw to the Rossville position, where the 
men could get drinking water, which was not to bo had 
on that hotly contested field of battle.”—E ds. 


ing after the retiring foe, and thus closed the 
battle of Chickaniauga.” 

Another account of Garfield’s dashing ad¬ 
venture :it Chiekamauga is thus rendered by 
Captain Mason, in his short hut thrilling 
story of his old colonel’s military career in 
the crusade against secession: “ General 
Koscerans with his staff was borne hack 
by the broken corps of McCook, and believ¬ 
ing the battle lost, started at a gallop for 
Chattanooga to rally his broken columns 
and prepare for defence. They had gone 
perhaps three miles, when the chief of staff 
pulled up his horse and told his general that 
he believed the battle was not lost. lie 
could hear the roar of heavy fighting where 
the Army of the Cumberland, led by Gen¬ 
eral George II. Thomas, was holding the 
centre and left of the Federal lines against 
the whole of Bragg’s now confident legions. 
Garfield begged of Rosecrans permission 
to return to the front, find General Thomas, 
and fight the battle out. It was his first 
taste of anything like defeat, and he could not 
endure the thought of leaving the field while 
a single regiment was capable of resistance. 
Attended only by a captain and two or three 
mounted orderlies, he set out on his perilous 
ride through the dense thickets and across 
ravines and hills. Alter they encountered 
the enemy’s skirmishers an orderly was 
killed by Garfield’s side, and his own horse 
was wounded by a bullet, but he pushed on, 
and finally found the heroic Thomas nearly 
surrounded, but yielding not an inch. As 
Garfield approached Thomas’s position he 
saw Longstreet’s corps massed in column, 
thrusting its front between the right of 
Thomas’s line and the ridge of rising ground 
behind it. It was a dangerous moment, but, 
warned and guided by Garfield, Thomas with¬ 
drew his right, formed a new line facing the 
advancing enemy, launched a fresh division 
which had just reached the field against Long- 
street's advance, and the Army of the Cum¬ 
berland was saved. The long, bloody day 
closed at last, and, as the sun went down, 
the Confederates, baffled and repulsed, with¬ 
drew from the fight. Garfield, on foot and 
enveloped in smoke, directed the pointing of 
a field-battery, which as the rebels retreated 
up the valley, flashed after them in the 
gathering darkness the last light that shone 
upon the red field of Chiekamauga. Not¬ 
withstanding the disaster of the morning on 
the right, the battle was a drawn one, and 
Rosecrans, in possession of Chattanooga, 
was secure from future attack. This bril¬ 
liant day’s work, in which the chief of staff 
shared with General Thomas the first honors 
ol that memorable engagement, practically 
ended General Garfield’s military service. A 
lew days alter the battle he was sent by 
Rosecrans to Washington to report to the 
I lesjdent and Secretary of War in minute 
detail the situation and necessities of the 


army at Chattanooga. On arriving at the 
capital be found that he bad been promoted 
to the full rank of major-general ‘for gallant 
and meritorious conduct at the battle of 
Chiekamauga,’ bis commission dating from 
the 19th of September, 1863.” Says Brisbin, 
most happily, apropos of General Garfield’s 
heroic exploit, “ His was the true soldier’s 
spirit, his the true soldier’s creed, Napoleon’s 
advice to his generals, ‘March in the direc¬ 
tion of the heaviest firing!’” 

General T. J. Wood, in his official report 
of his own unfortunate part in the battle, 
thus generously speaks of General Garfield’s 
gallantry: “It affords me much pleasure to 
signalize the presence with my command 
for a length of time during the afternoon, 
present during the period of hottest firing, 
of another distinguished officer, Brigadier- 
General James A. Garfield, chief of the staff. 
After the disastrous rout on the rij>ht, Gen- 
oral Garfield made bis way back to the bat¬ 
tle-field, showing clearly that the road was 
open to all who might choose to follow it, 
and came to where my command was en¬ 
gaged. The brigade which made so deter¬ 
mined a resistance on the crest of the narrow 
ridge during all the long September after¬ 
noon bad been commanded by General Gai’- 
field when he belonged to my division. The 
men remarked his presence with much satis¬ 
faction, and were delighted that he was a 
witness of the splendid fighting they were 
doing.” 

The Republicans of the Nineteenth Con¬ 
gressional District of Ohio bad in October, 
1862, elected General Garfield as Represen¬ 
tative in the Thirty-eighth Congress, which 
was to assemble in December, 1863. When 
be was sent to Washington with dispatches 
from the army at Chattanooga, President 
Lincoln welcomed him with open arms and 
warm and friendly words. He urgently ad¬ 
vised him to resign his commission, that of 
major-general just gratefully bestowed, and 
to take bis seat in the House of Representa¬ 
tives. “ I have plenty of good generals,” 
said the President, “and but few able, loyal, 
and understanding members of Congress. I 
want you.” President Lincoln too well 
knew the crying need of national represen¬ 
tatives who perfectly understood the require¬ 
ments of the army and were capable of deal¬ 
ing with government questions in the right 
spirit of patriotism. Garfield he saw was 
the very man for the country and the hour. 
Two years of war had then desolated the 
land. Vicksburg, Gettysburg, and Antietam 
had been won, but the Confederates were 
yet in the field, unconquered and as persist¬ 
ent as ever in the work of hostility and de¬ 
struction. It was seen that the rebels would 
bitterly fight to the last ditch, and the vital 
question was whether Congress, the A ar 
Department, and the Treasury were ol the 
same mind and strong enough to save the 












I 





























































































31 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


United States. Copperhead ism was ram¬ 
pant, and the old Democracy of the North 
lukewarm. Washington had often proved a 
blundering embarrassment to the general in 
the field. General Garfield had an invalua¬ 
ble and imperative opportunity in the direct 
line ot duty. The call of his country was 
irresistible to the conscience of the citizen 
and patriot, and he accepted it, resigning a 
major-generaley for a membership of Con¬ 
gress, the annual salary of the latter being 
less than half that of the former. The for¬ 
mal resignation of his commission in the 
army was dated the 5th of December, 1863. 
When Garfield consulted his chief, General 
Rosecrans, on the subject, substantially the 
following conversation occurred. Said Gen¬ 
eral Garfield,— 

“General, I have been asked to accept the 
Republican nomination for Congress from 
the Ashtabula District of Ohio. What ouirht 
1 to do? What is your advice? Ought I 
to accept? Can I do so honorably? Give 
me your opinion freely.” 

“ I am glad for your sake,” replied Rose¬ 
crans, “that you have a new distinction, and 
I certainly think you can accept with honor; 
and what is more, I deem it your duty to do 
so. The war is not yet over, nor is it likely 
to be for some time to come. There will be, 
of necessity, many questions arising in Con¬ 
gress which will require not alone the states¬ 
manlike treatment for which you have the 
ability, but the advice of men possessing a 
practical acquaintance with present military 
affairs. For these and other reasons I be¬ 
lieve you will be able to do equally good 
service to your country in Congress as in 
the field. That is my best judgment.” 

That General Rosecrans highly appreci¬ 
ated Garfield’s valuable services as a soldier 
is seen in his official report of operations in 
Middle Tennessee. lie writes, “All my staff 
merited my warm approbation for ability, 
zeal, and devotion to duty; but I am sure 
they will not consider it invidious if I espe¬ 
cially mention Brigadier-General Garfield, 
ever active, prudent, and sagacious. I feel 
much indebted to him for both counsel and 
assistance in the administration of this army. 
He possesses the energy and the instinct of 
a great commander.” 

In the Ohio Senate Garfield had spoken 
brave and sensible words before war broke 


duty he stood upon the floor of legislation 
to put down treason with his tongue as he 
had helped to put it down with his ready 
sword at Middle Creek, Pittsburg, and Chick- 
amauga. 

Says Bundy, “ Even after he wont to Con¬ 
gress, as the war was still doubtful, his im¬ 
pulse to resign and go back into the army 
was very strong.- After the removal of 
General Rosecrans, his former commander, 
General Thomas, who was a dear friend of 
Garfield, was very anxious to have him come 
back into the army, and tendered him, in a 
private letter, the command of an army 
corps if he would go there. Thomas had 
become the head of the whole Army of the 
Cumberland, and with such an invitation 
Garfield’s impulse to go back was almost ir¬ 
resistible. But on going to Mr. Lincoln with 
the matter, the President made a personal 
point wilh him. ‘ In the first place,’ said he, 

‘ the Republican majority in Congress is very 
small, and there is great doubt whether or 
not we can carry our measures; and in the 
next place, we are greatly lacking in men of 
military experience in the House to regulate 
the legislation about the army.’ ” 

It will be of interest to learn General 
Garfield’s first impressions of his old gallant 
and uncrushed general in the fearful fiidit 
of Chickamauga, as expressed in a letter to 
President Hinsdale, of Hiram College : 

“ Muhfreesborough, Tenn., February 16, 1S63. 

“ My horses and part of my staff were de¬ 
layed on the Cumberland by the attack on 
Fort Donelson, and did not reach here until 
a few days ago. I have been the guest of 
General Rosecrans since my arrival, and I 
have never been more acquainted with the 
interior life of any man in the same length 
of time in my life. He wants me to stay 
with him as chief of staff instead of taking 
command of a division. I am greatly in 
doubt which to choose. lie is one of the 
few men in the war who enters upon all his 
duties with a deeply devout religious feeling, 
and looks to God as the disposer of the vic¬ 
tory. Ilis very able report of the late battle 
here ends with this fine sentence from the 
Catholic Church service, which he does not 
quote with any cant or affectation, ‘A on 
nobis Domi.ne, non nobis sed tuo nomine da 
gloriam!’ ” 


out in behalf of union and liberty and fidelity 
to the old flag. When hostilities began he 
was among the first to volunteer tor battle, 
backing brave words with a brave heart and 
gallant sword. When standing in the front 
rank of United States generals, he relin¬ 
quished certain distinction and deserved ad¬ 
vancement as a military commander for the 
no less honorable post of Congressman, so as 
to do loyal and heroic work where his ser¬ 
vices were the most needed. At llie call of 
duty he went into the field, at the call ol 


After the battle of Chickamauga, General 
.osecrans thus warmly spoke of Garfield in 
is official report: “ To Brigadier-General 
arfield, chief of staff, I am especially in- 
ebted for the clear and ready manner in 
hich he seized the points of action and 
lovoment, and expressed in orders the ideas 
the general commanding.” Such a moa- 
irc of praise from an officer like Rosecrans 
worth a volume of loose laudations by 
ie inexperienced and less sincere. General 


Thomas never differed from General Rose¬ 
crans in his estimation of the soldierly qual¬ 
ities and intellectual superiority oftheyoung 
i citizen-volunteer who did such faithful duty 
to his country and his commanders in the 
darkest hour of peril, nor will the nation he 
loved give him a lower place in its history 
than theirs, for equally moved by patriotism 
were they all. 

When President Garfield lay dying in the 
White House this last sad summer, the coun¬ 
try weeping at his bedside, he was heard one 
evening to murmur to himself in troubled 
sleep, “ The heart of the people will not let 
the old soldier die.” We could not save our 
hero do what we would, but we will enshrine 
him in our love, and in the fulness of our 
reverence and fervent feeling fitly say, “The 
heart of the people will keep the memory of 
the dear soldier green and fresh and fragrant 
for ever, for he was true to us, ‘ the people, 
the people, his trust,’ unto the end.” 


[From Our Second Century.] 

LINES ON OUR PRESIDENT—COLUMBIA’S CHIEF. 

COME BACK TO LIFE. 

Come back, come back to life 
Dear heart—once more 

Battle with stormy strife, 

Brave as before. 

Not yet—not yet so soon, 

Thy work be done, 

Nor in its golden noon, 

Go down thy sun. 

Thou hast so brave passed through 
The surges’ roar; 

Under the beaming blue, 

Walk forth once more. 

How all the North and South 
Thy sorrow share, 

Thy life the East and West 
Have domed with prayer. 

Arise, erect—ere long 
Our chieftain true, 

And our thanksgiving song, 

Shall thrill the prayer. 

Bright let the joy-fires glow, 

Ring every bell, 

Till all the world shall know 
We loved thee well. 

Thou to the portal dark, 

So long — so nigh — 

Too near the nation’s* heart 
To let thee die. 

















PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


Q > 

O -i 

Move on, ye grateful hours, 


In golden track, 

For heaven this chief of ours, 

Hath given back. 

Ring out the joyous bells, 

O’er sea and shore, 
lie lives, our hero lives, 

Is ours once more. 

Sire, youth, and manhood come 
One army grand, 

With trumpet, torch, and drum, 
Sounds through the land. 

Give every voice a song, 

Each heart a prayer, 

Let every breeze along 
Some piean bear. 

Enwreathe, with opening flowers, 
Archway and hall ; 

Light up the domes and towers, 
Bright blaze they all. 

Wave high the stripes and stars 
O’er every shore, 

Our hero lives, is ours, 

Ours, ours once more. 

After the storm of grief, 

Joy shines again, 

Long live Columbia’s chief, 

Happy his reign. 

Be his firm faith in one 
All guiding hand, 

Our shield and strength alone, 

Our shelter grand. 

Till every homeless heart, 

Where’er it beat, 

Find here a hearthstone bright, 

A welcome sweet. 

Lydia M. Millard. 


CHESTER A. ARTHUR. 

The following sketch of our new Presi¬ 
dent, Chester A. Arthur, a portrait of whom 
figures among our engravings, is taken from 
the Philadelphia Press: 

Chester A. Arthur is the son of a clergy¬ 
man. His father, William Arthur, was a 
Protestant Irishman, a native of Ballymena, ! 
County Antrim, Ireland, who came to this 
country, fresh from graduation at Belfast 
College, and entered the ministry of the 
Baptist denomination. As a preacher he 
was successful, and in authorship he made 
some mark. He died at Ncwtonville, near 
Albany, N. Y., October 27,1875. From 1855 
to 1803 he was pastor of the Calvary Baptist 
Church, in New York City, and at other 
times filled pulpits at Bennington, Ilines- 
burg, Fairfield, and Willislon, in Vermont, 


and York, Perry, Greenwich, Schenectady, 
Lansinglmrg, Hoosic, West Troy, and New¬ 
tonville, in New York. Ilis wife, Malvina 
Stone, bore him two sons and five daughters, 
and the eldest of these children, Chester 
Allan Arthur, now becomes President of the 
United States. The date of his birth was 
October 5,1830, and the place of his nativity 
was Fairfield, Franklin County, Vermont. 

Young Arthur’s first tutor was his father, 
but in the public schools of Schenectady he 
was prepared for entering Union College, 
where he was matriculated at the age of 
fifteen. In college he was an industrious 
student; took high rank in his classes, and 
was an active member of the Psi Upsilon 
Society. Meanwhile he eked out his funds 
by teaching a country school and board¬ 
ing around. In 1848 he was graduated 
with high rank, and forthwith began the 
study of law at Ballston Springs. After 
two years at the law school he resumed 
teaching, by way of getting a little money 
ahead, and accepted the place of principal 
of the North Pownal Academy, in Benning¬ 
ton County, Vermont. This was in 1851. 
By rigid economy and hard work he had 
managed to save five hundred dollars, and 
with this in his pocket he went to New 
York, and entered the law office of Erastus 
I). Culver, afterwards minister to one of the 
South American States, and a judge of the 
Civil Court of Brooklyn. Soon after enter¬ 
ing Judge Culver’s office he was, in 1852, 
admitted to the bar, and entered the firm of 
Culver, Partsen & Arthur, which was dis¬ 
solved in 1857. Later he formed a partner¬ 
ship with an old friend, Ilenry I). Gardner, 
with an intention of practising in the West, 
and for three months these young gentlemen 
roamed through the Western States in search 
of a place to locate. In the end, not satisfied, 
they returned to New York and began a 
practice, successful almost from the start, 
and which lasted ten years, till 1865, when 
Mr. Arthur continued alone. Mr. Arthur, 
soon after being called to the bar, married a 
daughter of Lieutenant Herndon, of Central 
America fame, who died in January, 1879, 
leaving two children, a son of fourteen and 
a daughter of eight. 

AN ADVOCATE OF HUMAN RIGHTS. 

The law career of Mr. Arthur includes 1 
some notable cases. One of bis first cases 
was the celebrated Lemmon suit. In 1852, J 
Jonathan and Juliet Lemmon, Virginia 
slaveholders, intending to emigrate to 
Texas, went to New York to await the 
sailing of a steamer, bringing eight slaves 
with them. A writ of habeas corpus was 
obtained from Judgo Paine to test the 
question whether the provisions of the 
Fugitivo Slave Law were in force in that 
State. .1 udge Paine rendered a decision, 
holding that they were not, and ordering 


the Lemmon slaves to be liberated. Henry 
L. Clinton was one of the counsel for the 
slaveholders. A howl of rage went up from 
the South, and the Virginia Legislature au¬ 
thorized the Attorney-General of that State 
to assist in taking an appeal. William M. 
Evarts and Chester A. Arthur were em¬ 
ployed to represent the people, and they 
won their case, which then went to the Su¬ 
preme Court of the United States. Charles 
O’Connor here espoused the case of the slave¬ 
holders, but he, too, was beaten by Messrs. 
Evarts and Arthur, and a long step was thus 
taken towards the emancipation of the black 
race. 

Even as late as 1856, colored people were 
not permitted to ride on the Fourth Avenue 
street cars. Lizzie Jennings, a colored wo¬ 
man of excellent character, superintendent 
of a Sunday-school, was roughly expelled 
from a Fourth Avenue car because she was 
black. She brought suit against the railroad 
company, and applied to Mr. Arthur for ad¬ 
vice. He accepted charge of the case, and 
managed it before Judge Rockwell, in a 
Brooklyn court. The jury gave a verdict 
of 8500 damages in favor of the colored 
woman. The 8500 was paid by the railroad 
company, which next day issued an order 
to permit colored persons to ride on their 
cars, and the other car companies quickly 
followed their example. Before that, the 
Sixth Avenue company ran a few special 
cars for colored persons, and the other lines 
refused to let them ride at all. 

HIS WAR SERVICES. 

At the outbreak of the war, E. D. Morgan 
was elected Governor of New York, and in 
making up his staff he appointed Mr. Arthur 
Engineer in-Chief. He had just before this 
held the position of Judge Advocate of the 
Second Brigade, State Militia. lie was a 
little later appointed Inspector-General, and 
soon after—January 27,1862—was advanced 
to the very important post of Quartermaster- 
General, which ho held until the expiration 
of Mr. Morgan’s term of office. In these 
offices he did yeoman’s service for the gov¬ 
ernment in the equipment of volunteers. Of 
his services then, a friend wrote,— 

“ No higher encomium can be passed upon 
him than the mention of the fact that, al¬ 
though the war account of the State of 
New York was at least ten times larger 
than that of any other State, yet it was the 
first audited and allowed in Washington, 
and without the deduction of a single dollar, 
while the quartermasters’ accounts from 
other States were reduced from one to ten 
millions of dollars. During his incumbency 
every present sent to him was immediately 
returned. Among others, a prominent cloth¬ 
ing-house offered him a magnificent uni¬ 
form, and a printing-house proffered a costly 
saddle and trappings. Both gilts were in- 























33 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


dignantly rejected. When lie became Quar¬ 
termaster he was poor. When his term ex¬ 
pired he was poorer still. He had opportu¬ 
nities to make millions unquestioned. Con¬ 
tracts larger than the world had ever seen 
were at his disposal. He had to provide for 
the clothing, arming, and transportation of 
hundreds of thousands of men. So jealous 
was he of his integrity, that I have known 
instances where he could have made thou¬ 
sands of dollars legitimately, and yet he re¬ 
fused to do it, on the ground that he was a 
public officer, and meant to be, like Caesar’s 
wife, above suspicion. His own words in 
regard to this amply illustrate his character: 

‘ If I misappropriated a cent, and in walking 
down town saw two men talking on the 
corner together, I would imagine that they 
were talking of my dishonesty, and the very 
thought would drive me mad.’” 

In July, 1862, he was invited to be present 
at a secret meeting of the loyal Governors, 
held in Hew York for discussing measures to 
provide troops to carry on the war. He was 
the only person present who was not a Gov¬ 
ernor. In the same year he was on duty on 
the staff of Major-General Hunt, in the Army 
of the Potomac, as inspector of Hew York 
troops in the field. At the expiration of 
Governor Morgan’s term, he returned to his 
law practice, and business oftho most lucrative 
character poured in. Much of this work con¬ 
sisted in the collection of war claims and the 
drafting of important bills for speedy legis¬ 
lation. In consequence, a great deal of his 
time was spent in Albany and Washington, 
where his uniform success won him a national 
reputation. For a short time he held the 
position of counsel to the Board of Tax Com¬ 
missioners, at a salary of $10,000 per annum. 
In 1871 he formed a partnership with Mr. 
Hansom, and later with Mr. Phelps, the 
present District Attorney of Hew York City, 
and he is now the senior member of the firm 
of Arthur, Phelps, Knevals and Ransom. 

THE MAN. 

Personally General Arthur is a man of 
great culture, wide experience, and remark¬ 
able geniality. He is over six feet high, of 
full habit and fair complexion. His face is 
clean-shaven, except for thin gray side whis¬ 
kers. 

There is nothing about him of the politi¬ 
cian, as so many have been led to suppose. 
He does not talk in offensive accents; his 
voice is low and gentlemanly. He dresses 
in perfect good taste—at present entirely in 
black. Of his home in Hew York it is writ¬ 
ten : 

There is little in Lexington Avenue to 
distinguish one block from another. Ho. 123 
is just one of the dozen in its own particular 
block near Sixteenth Street. Here Chester 
A. Arthur lives. Inside the house is exactly 
what was to be expected. It is a house in 


which gold and white was selected for the 
drawing-room. At present all the beauties 
of furnishing are beneath the homely ban 
of furniture-covers. The gilt gasoliers are 
swathed in mosquito-net; so arc the pictures. 
Enough of these can, however, be seen to 
testify that the dweller here is a man of 
correct taste. The cattle pieces are all 
better than Verbockhoven ever drew; the 
quaint bit of still life beside the mantle 
looks to be, from where you sit, a genuine 
Teneirs. Its companion is, perhaps, an Os¬ 
tade. Upon the low book-cases, that con¬ 
tain some handsome volumes, are some ex¬ 
cellent bronzes—one, a spirited group, just 
over your host’s shoulder, looks to be Rus¬ 
sian handiwork. It certainly is a Cossack 
horse. General Arthur undoubtedly has 
been a traveller in his fancies, and yet he is 
a man who cares for cushions and comfort, 
llis parlor has no stiff furniture. The tete- 
a-tete is a very easy one, the arm-chairs are 
generous in proportion and generous in 
stuffing. Hear the fire-place a handsome 
silk screen shows a monogram in rainbow- 
colored silk, the work of deft fingers. But 
it is impossible to take a mental inventory 
and participate in your host’s conversation. 
Turn your attention to him rather than his. 

HIS POLITICAL CAREER. 

General Arthur’s political career began 
early—at fourteen years of age—as a cham¬ 
pion of the Whig party. He was a delegate to 
the Saratoga Convention that founded the 
Republican party in Hew York State, and 
was henceforward active in local and State 
politics. It was not long before he was a 
leading spirit in the party, and when lion. 
Thomas Murphy resigned the Collectorship 
of the Port of Hew York, in 1871, President 
Grant nominated him to the vacancy. The 
nomination surprised no one so much as its 
recipient. It had been previously offered to 
John A. Griswold and William Orton, both 
of whom declined and recommended Gen¬ 
eral Arthur. He was appointed November 
20th. Upon the expiration of' his four-years’ 
term he had so acceptably filled the post 
that he was reappointed, and unanimously 
confirmed by the Senate without the usual 
reference to a committee, a compliment usu¬ 
ally reserved for ex-Senators. He was re¬ 
moved by President Hayes on July 12, 1878, 
despite the fact that two special committees 
made searching investigation into his ad¬ 
ministration, and both reported themselves 
unable to find anything upon which to base 
a charge against him. In announcing the 
change both President Hayes and Secretary 
Sherman bore official witness to the purity 
I of his acts while in office. A petition for 
his retention was signed by every judge of 
every court in the city, by all the prominent 
members of the bar, and by nearly every 
important merchant in the collection dis¬ 


trict, but this General Arthur himself sup¬ 
pressed. 

In a letter to Secretary Sherman, review¬ 
ing the work of one of the investigating 
committees, General Arthur produced statis¬ 
tics to show that during his term of over six 
years in office the percentage of removals 
was only two and three-quarters, against an 
annual average of about twenty-eight per¬ 
cent. under his three immediate predecessors, 
and an annual average of about twenty-four 
per cent, since 1857. Of the nine hundred 
and twenty-three persons in office prior to 
his appointment, five hundred and thirty-one 
were still retained on May 1, 1877. All ap¬ 
pointments except two to the one hundred 
positions commanding salaries of $2000 per 
year were made on the plan of advancing men 
from the lower to the higher grades on the 
recommendation of heads of bureaus. The 
reforms which General Arthur instituted in 
the methods of doing business in the Custom 
House were as numerous as they were grate¬ 
ful to the mercantile community. After his 
removal lie was engaged in the practice of 
the law, and in the direction of Republican 
politics in the State, being Chairman of the 
Republican State Committee, and contrib¬ 
uted greatly, by successful management, to 
the success of the Republican ticket. 

NOMINATED FOR THE VICE-PRESIDENCV. 

General Arthur was nominated at Chicago 
for Vice-President, at the evening session of 
the convention, on Tuesday, June 10th. The 
convention met without plan in regard to 
completing the ticket. Nobody cared for 
delay, and the roll was promptly called for 
nominations for Vice-President. California 
presented E. B. Washburne; Connecticut 
brought out ex-Governor Jewell; Florida 
handed in the name of Judge Settle; Ten¬ 
nessee urged Horace Maynard. But these 
attracted little attention. Then ex-Lieutcn- 
ant-Governor Woodford rose in the Hew 
York delegation, and standing upon his scat, 
and after a brief reference to the loyal sup¬ 
port which Hew York had given to General 
Grant, said that New York could not be 
behind any in support of the candidate nom¬ 
inated to-day, and he presented the name of 
General C. A. Arthur for the second placo 
on the ticket. The nomination was received 
with a good deal of applause in the New 
York delegation. 

It was seconded by Governor Dennison of 
Ohio, and immediately supported by a speech 
from Storrs, of Illinois, in behalf of •Arthur, 
and a suggestion from Filley, of Missouri, 
that the nomination be made by acclama¬ 
tion. It was apparent to every one what 
had been going on during the recess,—Arthur 
had become Hew York’s choice for Vice- 
President, and the Ohio men, with the help 
of the Old Guard of the Grant hosts, had 
arranged to put him through. Asa general 















34 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


thing the crowd had very little interest for 
another candidate. They were impatient for 
a ballot, and hooted at succeeding speakers. 
Hicks, of Florida, finally withdrew Settle’s 
name, and was followed by Cessna, of Penn¬ 
sylvania, who said that the great Keystone 
State seconded Arthur’s nomination. A bal¬ 
lot was finally reached. Its result was so 
generally foreseen that no particular concern 
was manifested over it. There was some 
cheering, but the enthusiasm of this extraor¬ 
dinary convention had about worn out. The 
ballot stood: Arthur, 468; Washburnc, 19; 
Maynard, 30; Jewell, 44; Bruce, 8; Wood¬ 
ford,!; Davis, 2. The nomination of Arthur 
was made unanimous, on motion of Califor¬ 
nia, and then a committee of one from each 
State, with Senator Hoar for chairman, was 
appointed to notify the candidates of their 
nomination. Filley, of Missouri, then got 
in a motion to adjourn sine die , which was 
carried. 

Elected with General Garfield, General 
Arthur took the oath of office on the 4th of 
March last, and was installed as the Presi¬ 
dent of the Senate. During the trying days 
of the long dead-lock he presided over the 
Senate with a decisive firmness and calm, 
graceful dignity which commanded the re¬ 
spect of both parties. In these later days, 
when the country has been bowed in sorrow, 
General Arthur’s quiet, dignified, and sym¬ 
pathetic bearing has been the subject of the 
most gratifying remark. Except when he 
went to Washington to express in person 
his condolence, he remained at his home 
in New York, hoping with the rest of his 
countrymen for the recovery of the Presi¬ 
dent. As showing the tender feeling and 
courtly gallantry of the new President, the 
scene in the White House when General 
Arthur called to condole with Mrs. Garfield 
may be recalled. The Vice-President ad¬ 
vanced to meet the wife of the wounded 
President, took her extended hand in his, 
pressed it to his lips, and in tones that went 
to her heart assured her of his deep sym¬ 
pathy, and suddenly, as though overcome 
by the sadness of the situation, exclaimed, 
“God knows, madam, I do not wish to be 
President!” 

We were among the number who, at the 
outset of President Arthur’s administration, 
stood up for his defence against the slander¬ 
ous representations of interested assailants; 
and wo are happy that what we predicted of 
his large-hearted, manly nature, and patriotic 
devotion to the interests of his country is 
being rapidly realized. The delicacy of con¬ 
duct which he evinced during the illness of 
President Garfield, his forbearance in joining 
in the question of Presidential disability, 
which was being then generally discussed; 
his considerate treatment of the members of 
Garfield’s Cabinet, and bis evident inclination 
to pursue a policy of which the country had 


shown abundant marks of approval, have 
turned the full tide of public opinion in his 
favor. His assailants may now be counted 
on the fingers. 

As we said before, in Our Second Century , 
when alluding to him in his capacity of Vice- 
President, there are few in the country who 
can compare with him “in personal charac¬ 
ter, so far as courage, generosity, and force 
are concerned. Ilis commanding appearance 
alone, forbids his doing any action that is 
not patriotic.” 

President Arthur is an earnest friend of 
the people, and that is a strong guarantee 
for the success of his government. 


PRESIDENT LINCOLN’S SECOND INAUGURAL 
ADDRESS. 

Fellow-Countrymen: At this second ap¬ 
pearing to take the oath of the Presidential 
office, there is less occasion for an extended 
address than there was at the first. Then a 
statement, somewhat in detail, of a course 
to be pursued, seemed fitting and proper. 
Now, at the expiration of four years, during 
which public declarations have been con¬ 
stantly called forth on every point and phase 
of the great contest which still absorbs the 
attention and engrosses the energies of the 
nation, little that is new could be presented. 
The progress of our arms, upon which all 
else chiefly depends, is as well known to the 
public as to myself; and it is, I trust, rea¬ 
sonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. 
With high hope for the future, no prediction 
with regard to it is ventured. On the occa¬ 
sion corresponding to this four years ago, 
all thoughts were anxiously directed to an 
impending civil war. All dreaded it; all 
sought to avert it. While the inaugural ad¬ 
dress was being delivered from this place, 
devoted altogether to saving the Union with¬ 
out war, insurgent agents were in the city 
seeking to destroy it without war—seeking 
to dissolve the Union, and divide effects, by 
negotiation. Both parties deprecated war; 
but one of them would make war rather than 
let the nation survive; and the other would 
accept war rather than let it perish. And 
the war came. One-eighth of the whole 
population were colored slaves, not dis¬ 
tributed generally over the Union, but local¬ 
ized in the southern part of it. These slaves 
constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. 
All knew that this interest was, somehow, 
the cause of the war. To strengthen, per¬ 
petuate, and extend this interest, was the 
object for which the insurgents would rend 
the Union, oven by war; while the govern¬ 
ment claimed no right to do more than to 
restrict the territorial enlargement of it. 
Neither party expected for the war the 
magnitude or the duration which it has al¬ 
ready attained. Neither anticipated that 
the cause of the conflict might cease with, 


or even before, the conflict itself should 
cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, 
and a result less fundamental and astound¬ 
ing. Both read the same Bible, and pray to 
the same God; and each invokes His aid 
against the other. It may seem strange 
that any men should dare to ask a just God’s 
assistance in wringing their bread from the 
sweat of other men’s faces; but let us judge 
not, that we be not judged. The prayers of 
both could not be answered ; that of neither 
has been answered fully. The Almighty 
has Ilis own purpose. “Woe unto the world 
because of offences! for it must needs be that 
offence come; but woe to that man by whom 
the offences comcth.” If we shall suppose 
American slavery is one of those offences 
which, in the providence of God, must needs 
come, but which, having continued through 
Ilis appointed time, He now wills to remove, 
and that He gives to both North and South 
this terrible war, as the woe due to those 
by whom the offence came, shall we discern 
therein any departure from those divine at¬ 
tributes which the believers in a living God 
always ascribe to Him? Fondly do we hope, 
fervently do we pray, that this mighty 
scourge of war may speedily pass away. 
Yet, if God wills that it continue until all 
the wealth piled by the bondman’s two hun¬ 
dred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall 
be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn 
with the lash shall be paid by another drawn 
with the sword, as was said three thousand 
years ago so still it must be said, “ The judg¬ 
ments of the Lord are true and righteous 
altogether.” With malice towards none, with 
charity for all, with firmness in the right, as 
God gives us to see the right, let us strive 
on to finish the work we are in ; to bind up 
the nation’s wounds; to care lor him who 
shall have borne the battle, and for his 
widow, and his orphan; to do all which may 
achieve and cherish a just and a lasting peace 
among ourselves and with all nations. 


THE ASSASSINATION OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN* 

On the evening of the 14th of April the 
places of public amusement were to be spe¬ 
cially decorated in honor of the great vic¬ 
tories, and of the raising over Fort Sumter 
of the identical flag pulled down on that day 
four years before, at the opening of the war. 
Mr. Lincoln, who had been wont occasion¬ 
ally to seek a brief respito from his heavy 
cares by attending a play or opera, thought 
proper to engage a private box at Ford’s 
Theatre for this evening, intending that Gen¬ 
eral Grant should accompany him on the 
occasion. A messenger was sent on Friday 
morning to secure the upper double box on 
the right-hand side of the audience, before 

* From the “ Life of Abraham Lincoln,” by Joseph H. 
Barrett. Moore, Wilstach & Baldwin, Publishers. 










PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


occupied by him, and the announcement was 
made in the evening papers, by the business 
manager of the theatre, that the President 
and General Grant would be present to 
witness the performance of “ Our American 
Cousin.” General Grant, however, had felt 
compelled to leave the city that evening, 
and he was accordingly excused. There 
were visitors at the White House that night, 
as usual, and it was late when Mr. Lin¬ 
coln was ready to leave. Mrs. Lincoln, as 
it some presentiment restrained her, seemed 
reluctant to go, but the President was un¬ 
willing that those who had seen the an¬ 
nouncement should be totally disappointed 
by seeing neither himself nor General Grant. 
They stopped to take up two young friends, 
and it was not yet past nine when the party 
reached the theatre, which was densely 
thronged. As President Lincoln entered 
and passed to his box, he was greeted with 
enthusiastic cheering. Mr. Lincoln occu¬ 
pied a chair on the side of the box nearest 
the audience, Mrs. Lincoln sitting next him. 
Their guests were sitting beyond, in a por¬ 
tion of the box usually separated by a par¬ 
tition, which had been removed for this 
occasion. Any intrusion in the presence of 
so many spectators was hardly thought pos¬ 
sible. Every day of his life in Washington 
the President had been in positions far more 
inviting to murderous assault. In the midst 
of a scene of the third act, when but one 
actor was before the curtain, the sound of a 
pistol-shot was heard, and a man leaped 
from the President’s box and disappeared 
behind the scenes. So sudden was all this 
that only the screams of Mrs. Lincoln, a 
moment later, revealed its meaning. The 
President had been shot. Ilis assassin had 
escaped. One of the audience promptly 
sprung upon the stage, following the fugitive, 
but was only in time to see him mount a 
horse at the rear of the theatre and ride 
away at dying speed. Wild excitement 
swayed the audience now towards the stage, 
many leaping over the footlights. Attention 
was instantly directed to the condition of 
Mr. Lincoln. He was found to be insensible, 
having fallen slightly forward where he sat. 

Presently surgeons were admitted to the 
box, and it was discovered that he had been 
shot in the back of the neck, just beneath the 
base of the brain, in which the ball was 
lodged,—a hopeless wound. In a few min¬ 
utes more he was borne from the theatre to 
a private house on the opposite side of the | 
street. The terrible news quickly spread 
through the city, and the streets near the 
theatre were thronged with distressed and 
indignant thousands, anxious for a word as 
to the President’s condition that would give . 
encouragement to hope. Almost simulta¬ 
neously came the intelligence that Secretary ; 
Seward, who had been seriously ill for many 
days past, had been brutally stabbed in his 


bed by a ruffian, who had wounded several 
others in making his escape from the house. 
It soon became known also that Frederick 
W. Seward, Assistant Secretary of State, had 
been so wounded, by the same hand, that his 
recovery was very doubtful. In the room to 
which Mr. Lincoln had been removed he re¬ 
mained, still breathing, but unconscious, sur¬ 
rounded by his distracted family, by his 
Cabinet, by the surgeons, and a few others, 
until twenty-three minutes past seven o’clock 
on the morning of April 15, when he ex¬ 
pired. Never before was rejoicing turned 
into such sudden and overwhelming sorrow. 
A demon studying how most deeply to 
wound the greatest number of hearts, could 
have devised no act for his purpose like 
that which sent Abraham Lincoln to his 
grave. No man’s loss could have been so 
universally felt as that of a father, brother, 
friend. Bells sadly tolled in all parts of the 
land. Mourning drapery was quickly seen 
from house to house on every square of the 
National Capital; and all the chief places of 
the country witnessed, by spontaneous dem¬ 
onstrations, their participation in the gen¬ 
eral sorrow. In every pulpit, and at every 
altar throughout the nation, the great public 
grief was the theme of earnest prayer and 
discourse the day following. No pen can 
describe the scene, and no adult living on 
that da} 7 can ever forget. On the morning 
of his death Mr. Lincoln’s remains wore 
taken to the White House, embalmed, and 
on Tuesday laid in state in the East Room, 
where they were visited by many thousands 
during the day. On Wednesday funeral 
services were held in the same room. The 
funeral procession and pageant, as the body 
was removed to the rotunda of the Capitol, 
were grand and solemn beyond description. 
The whole length of the avenue, from the 
Executive Mansion to the Capitol, was 
crowded with thousands of the army, navy, 
and civil officers, and citizens, marching to 
the music of solemn dirges. The remains 
again lay in state in the rotunda, and were 
witnessed by thousands during the following 
day. On Friday morning the remains were 
borne to the rich funeral car, in which they 
were to be borne on their journey of nearly 
two thousand miles, to their last resting- 
place in the silence of the western prairie. 

The final obsequies took place at Spring- 
field, on Thursday, the 4th of May, when 
the remains of Abraham Lincoln, in the 
presence of many thousands, were placed in 
a vault in Oak Ridge Cemetery. Mr. Lin¬ 
coln’s last inaugural address was read ; the 
“Dead March” in “Said,” and other dirges 
and hymns were sung, accompanied by an 
instrumental band, and an eloquent dis¬ 
course was preached by Bishop Simpson. 
In every part ot the nation the day was ob¬ 
served and business suspended. Never, 
probably, was the memory of any man before 


I so honored in his death, or any obsequies 
1 participated in by so many hundreds of 
I thousands of sincere mourners. 


GOLDEN SAYINGS OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

Whatever shall tend to turn our thoughts 
j from the unreasoning and uncharitable pas¬ 
sions, prejudices, and jealousies incident to a 
great national trouble such as ours, and to 
fix them on the vast and long-enduring con¬ 
sequences, for weal or for woe, which are to 
result from the struggle, and especially to 
strengthen our reliance on the Supreme 
Being for the final triumph of the right, 
cannot but be well for us all. 

I cannot but know what you all know, 
that without a name, perhaps without a rea¬ 
son why I should have a name, there has 
fallen upon me a task such as did not rest 
oven upon the Father of his country, and so 
feeling I cannot but turn and look for the 
support without which it will be impossible 
for me to perform that great task. I turn, 
then, and look to the great American 
people, and to that God who has never for¬ 
saken them. 

A duty devolves upon me which is, per¬ 
haps, greater than that which has devolved 
upon any other man since the days of Wash¬ 
ington. lie never would have succeeded 
except for the aid of Divine Providence, 
upon which he at all times relied. I feel 
that I cannot succeed without the same 
Divine aid which sustained him, and on the 
same Almighty Being I place my reliance 
for support. 

Asa private citizen the Executive could 
[ not have consented that these institutions 
shall perish; much less could he, in betrayal 
of so vast and so sacred a trust as these free 
people have confided to him. He felt that 
he had no moral right to shrink, or even to 
count the chances of his own life, in what 
may follow. In full view of his great re¬ 
sponsibility he has so far done what he has 
deemed his duty. 

I repeat the declaration made a year ago, 
that while 1 remain in my position, I shall 
not attempt to retract or modify the emanci¬ 
pation proclamation, nor shall I return to 
slavery any person who is free by the terms 
of that proclamation, or by any of the acts 
of Congress. If the people should, by what¬ 
ever mode or means, make it an executive 
duty to re-cnslave such persons, another, 
and not I, must be the instrument to per¬ 
form it. 

If the Almighty Ruler of Nations, with 
His eternal truth and justice, be on your side 
of the North, or on yours of the South, that 
1 truth and that justice will surely prevail, by 
; the judgment of this great tribunal of the 
American people. 
























36 


A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


PRESIDENT JAMES 


I am sure I bring a heart true to the 
work. For the ability to perform it, I must 
trust in that Supremo Being who has never 
forsaken this favored land, through the in¬ 
strumentality of this great and intelligent 
people. Without that assistance I shall 
surely fail; with it I cannot tail. 

I hold that, in contemplation of universal 
law, and of the Constitution, the Union of 
these States is perpetual. 

I have never had a feeling, politically, that 
did not spring from the sentiments embod¬ 
ied in the Declaration of Independence. I 
have pondered over the toils that were en¬ 
dured by the officers and soldiers of the army 
who achieved that independence. I have 
often inquired of myself what great principle 
or idea it Avas that kept this confederacy so 
long together. It was not the mere matter 
of the separation of the colonies from the 
mother land, but that sentiment in the 
Declaration of Independence which gave lib¬ 
erty, not alone to the people of this country, 
but, I hope, to the world, for all future time. It 
was that which gave promise that in due 
time the weight would be lifted from the 
shoulders of all men. This is the sentiment 
embodied in the Declaration of Indepen¬ 
dence. Can this country be saved upon 
that basis? If it can, I will consider my¬ 
self one of the happiest men in the world if 
I can help to save it. If it cannot be saved 
upon that principle it will be truly awful. 
But if this country cannot be saved without 
giving up that principle, I was about to say, 
I would rather be assassinated on this spot 
than surrender it. 

This nation, under God, shall have a new 
birth of freedom, and government of the 
people, by the people, and for the people, 
shall not perish from the earth. 

Our common country is in great peril, 
demanding the loftiest views and boldest ac¬ 
tion to bring a speedy relief. Once relieved, 
its form of government is saved to the world ; 
its beloved history and cherished memories 
are vindicated, and its happy future fully 
assured and rendered inconceivably grand. 

It is true that, while I hold myself, with¬ 
out mock modesty, the humblest of all in¬ 
dividuals that have ever been elevated to the 
Presidency, I have a more difficult task to 
perform than any one of them. You have 
generously tendered me the united support 
of the great Empire State. For this, in be¬ 
half of the nation—in behalf of the present 
and future of the nation—in behalf of civil 
and religious liberty for all time to come— 
most gratefully do I thank you. 


gives us to see the right, let us strive on to 
finish the work we are in, to bind up the 
nation’s wounds, and care for him who shall 
have borne the battle, and for his widow and 
his orphans; to do all which may achieve 
and cherish a just and a lasting peace among 
ourselves and with all nations. 


A house divided against itself cannot stand. 
I believe this Government cannot endure per¬ 
manently half slave and half free. I do not 
expect the Union to be dissolved I do not 
expect the house to fall, but I do expect it 
will cease to be divided. It will become all 
one thing or all the other. 

Let us resolve that the martyred dead 
shall not have died in vain. 


The struggle of to-day is not altogether 
for to-day; it is for a vast future also. With 
a reliance on Providence, all the more firm 
and earnest, let us proceed in the great task 
which events have devolved upon us. 

No human counsel hath devised, nor hath 
any mortal hand worked out, these great 
things. They are the gracious gifts of the 
Most High God, who, while dealing with us 
in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless re¬ 
membered mercy. 


QUEEN VICTORIA. 

No great public calamity is wholly with¬ 
out good results. 

President Garfield’s death has done much 
to re-establish fraternal relations between 
sections of this country that were once un¬ 
happily divided ; and it has done scarcely 
less to strengthen the bonds of affection be¬ 
tween America and England, the mother- 
country, or, as Hawthorne calls her, “our 
old home.” 

If in the general sympathy extended us 
by foreign nations, that of England touches 
us most nearly, it is to be ascribed not 
only to identity of race and of language, 
but to the deep interest and genuine solici¬ 
tude expressed for the dying President by 
that august and noble woman, Queen Vic¬ 
toria. Henceforth she can scarcely be more 
dear to Englishmen than to us. We shall 
love and revere her, not as our sovereign 
liege, not as Queen of England and Empress 
of India, but as a true and good woman 
whose heart went out to her sister in dis¬ 
tress, and whose words of helpful sympathy 
and encouragement were as truly extended 
as they were gratefully received. To those 
familiar with Queen Victoria’s past, her kind¬ 
ness during President Garfield’s sickness 


Ie slavery is not wrong, nothing is wrong. 
I cannot remember when I did not so think 
and feel. 

V ith malice towards none, with charity 
for all, with firmness in the right as God 


came as no new revelation of a thoroughly 
good and womanly nature. 

Queen \ ictoria’s reign has been, com- 
paiatively, a peaceful one. No mighty con¬ 
queror has arisen, since her coronation, to 
harass the continent, and embroil Eng¬ 


land in perpetual wars. She has won glory 
by no policy of ambition or aggrandizement 
but through the conquests of peace; through 
the wise regulations and reforms of her ad- 
ministration; and, above all, through the 
nobility and purity of her life, she has given 
England cause to thank fortune for such a 
ruler. The “fierce light which beats upon 
a throne” has revealed nothing in her that 
detracts from the goodness of the woman 
or the dignity of the queen. In every re- 
lation of life, she has borne herself as be¬ 
came one in whose hands such exceptional 
gil'ts were placed. As daughter, wife, mother 
queen, her record is spotless ; and one needs 
only to compare her court with that of some 
of her profligate predecessors, to see of what 
inestimable value have been her example 
and services in the cause of morality. 

Called to the throne in 1838, at the early 
age of nineteen, she soon displayed a wis¬ 
dom and prudence that astonished her ad¬ 
visers, and gained for her a loyalty that far 
transcended the mere duty of her subjects, 
and soon grew into positive affection. 

It is of interest to note that though, like 
President Garfield, she has always enjoyed 
universal respect and esteem, attempts havo 
been made upon her life. In none of these 
was she ever wounded, and none of the cul¬ 
prits were punished by death. 

In 1840, she was married to Prince Albert, 
of Saxc-Coburg-Gotha. Their union was 
one of ideal tenderness and mutual affection; 
and his death, in 1861, grieved her so deeply 
that she has since rarely appeared in public 
or at court ceremonials. Twenty years of 
mourning and of consecration to her bus- 
band’s memory show the depth and intensity 
of her love. And one can well imagine how 
her heart must have overflowed with sj in¬ 
put hy when Mrs. Garfield lay under the 
shadow of the loss of one Avho was as neai 


and dear. Of the frequent and touching 
manifestations of that sympathy, of the 
kind and cheering words flashed under the 


sea, of the earnest hopes for his recovei} — 
alas! never to be realized — so often ex 
pressed by Queen Victoria, Ave arc all uunie. 
Their memory Avill not soon die. In the an 
rials of our times, they Avill take theii place 
on that blessed page which recouls no ac 
that wounds, but only those high and g ene 
ous deeds whose memory is among the nu 


precious heritages of humanity. 


Tio in the same given time can P' 0< 11 ' 
e than many others has vigor, " K 
luce more and better has talents; " 
produce what none else can, has gtru^ ^ 

e that would please must raieh a * 

. excellence as depresses his hcare 
r own opinion or debars them u 
3 of contributing reciprocally 
rtainment of the compan). 






































































PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


37 


A VISION OF THE REPUBLIC. 

BY CHARLES T. DAZEY. 

Borne softly on in sleep’s enchanted car, 

My spirit ranged o’er land and parting sea 

In that Old World whose ancient trade of 
war 

Still sates the lustful pride of tyranny. 

Within the leash they crouched like war- 
dogs stanch, 

Those kindred nations, eager for the call 

That should once more shake down an ava¬ 
lanche 

Of war and ruin in one perilous fall. 

From all the kindly arts of peace withdrawn, 
The flower of youth decayed in guarded 
camps; 

And still the squalid laborer toiled from 
dawn 

Till dewy eve hung out her starry lamps; 

Toiled to make soft the silken couch of 
kings, 

Toiled to uphold the pomp and pride of 
courts, 

With one far hope—the day that homeward 
brings 

Ilis soldier boy immured in royal forts. 

Sick with the sights and sounds of misery, 
Sick of the fruits of immemorial wrong, 

Grim shapes of Circumstance and Poverty 
That crush the weak, but make the strong 
more strong, 

My soul fled onward till it marked a band, 
Children of toil, bronze-cheeked and hoxmy- 
p aimed, 

In motley group, upon the pebbly strand 
Of a great sea, beside a ship becalmed. 

On their worn features was no trace of sad¬ 
ness, 

Like some poor captive’s, freed from dun¬ 
geon bars, 

Each visage glowed with deep, transfiguring 
gladness, 

That smoothed away old serfhood’s graven 
scars. 

And, with still wonder, furthermore I marked 
A glorious hope, that, like an aureola 
bright, 

Played round their brows, as slowly they 
embarked, 

Bathed in the splendor of the western 
light. 

Then, with the power of that great rapture 
born, 

My soul was shaken like a wind-swept 
lyre; 

My lips were opened, as at touch of morn 
The portals of the day, and sweet desire 
5 


Of song possessed me, and the fiery stir 
Of warring words that make the senses 
reel, 

Until I grew the high interpreter 

Of this fair hope which they could only 
feel: 

“ Far o’er these weary leagues of wandering 
foam, 

Beside the shining rivers of the West, 

In some green valley, shall we make our 
home, 

And know sweet peace, rich plenty, toil- 
won rest. 

“ There is the land, the dearest theme of 
song, 

The lost Atlantis which the poets mourn, 

The new Arcadia where time-hallowed 
wrong 

Melts, like the snow, before the freeman’s 
scorn. 

“No Old World fetters load her youthful 
limbs, 

No king compels her free-born neck to bow, 

No crimson stain of useless warfare dims 
Thepeaceful splendors of her maiden brow. 

“ Behold her people! temperate, good, and 
wise, 

Like bearded grain in equal ranks they 
stand, 

No prideful trees to bar the golden skies, 

No noisome weeds to take the fertile land. 

“ The winnowed wisdom of the past is theirs ; 
Iloary Experience, like a faithful guide, 

With palsied finger points where, unawares, 
Some lion lurks, and turns them e’er aside. 

“ Oh, follow fast, good ship, yon sinking sun 
Across the watery desert bleak and lone, 

Until at last, the long, long journey done, 
Our hope is crowned, and we are freedom’s 
own.” 

Oh, glorious hope, twice blessed be the lips 
That, priest-like, uttered thee with solemn 

j°y-' 

Oh, happy ship, sail on till safely dips 
Thy anchored hull beyond the harbor 
buoy! 

But, lo! what bat-like shape with evil voice 
Hangs at my ear, and sneers, with gloating 
eyes: 

“Poor fools, a little let them still rejoice, 

A little longer dream of Paradise! 

“You know, ah, well! the land whereto 
they go, 

That in its broad breast clasps three ample 
zones, 

Through whose rich plains three mighty 
rivers flow, 

And sea-like meet with deepest organ 
tones. 


“ And well you know how in this fair domain 
There moves a race wrapped up in selfish 
dreams, 

Who barter life and love for sordid gain, 

. And, spider-like, die ’mid their cobweb 
schemes. 

“ They were the heirs of all the precious 
past; 

Her pearls great Freedom lavished with¬ 
out mete; 

Into the dust they trod them as she cast 
The blood-bought jewels at their swinish 
feet. 

“Within their hands the desperate hopes of 
man, 

For watch and ward, a priceless treasure 
lay; 

Some fifty years they held them, then began 
The shameless era of the Reign of Prey. 

“In the grand temple of their liberties 
The office-brokers hold unchallenged seat ; 

Before them in the dust men bow their eyes, 
And count the price of their dishonor 
sweet. 

“At desk, in field,the masses sweat and toil, 
Scarce raising heads to note of civic shame, 

Oblivious of what wrangle or turmoil 

Among their rulers soils the nation’s name; 

“Unknowing or unheeding that the seeds 
Whence spring dictators have not passed 
away, 

That oft the gloom has gathex-ed which pre¬ 
cedes 

The arctic night of Freedom’s little day. 

“ Slow-burrowing beneath the common weal, 
StealthyDestruction lays his death-charged 
mines ; 

A little longer and the land shall feel 
The restless Ruin that inactive pines. 

“ With one volcano-burst the dome shall fall 
That shelters Freedom’s hard-won heri¬ 
tage, 

And, as of old, securely over all, 

A despot smile upon the people’s rage. 

“Then shall the Old World’s scornful laugh¬ 
ter como 

Like scorpion stings to thy unwilling ears, 

And shadowy Greece shall nod to spectral 
Rome, 

While banished liberty looks back through 
tears.” 

With heavy heart I turned mine eyes away 
From that embodied Doubt and harsh 
Despair, 

When on my gaze there fell the lightning 
play 

Of snowy pinions in the gulfs of air. 









38 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


And lo! above mo stood, with folded wings, 
An angel, a majestic son of Light, 

Before whose glance, like frail, gloom-woven 
things, 

Sun-kissed, the Shape dissolved into the 
night. 

Then while I faltered, like some eagle bold 
Whose ardent wings have won the utmost 
skies, 

Drunken with light, from those bright lips 
there rolled 

Words sweet as dream-caught songs of 
Paradise. 

“ Fear not,” he said, “ nor let that envious 
Shape 

Appal or vex thee by his slanderous art; 

Ilis dark forebodings that, like storm-clouds, 
drape 

Hope’s heaven with fear, strong Truth 
shall rend apart. 

“Among: the infinite hosts of God I am 
Not least of those in His great love secure, 

I, who was christened by the blessed Lamb 
Of Calvary, the Angel of the Poor. 

“And by the mighty faith and power divine 
That with celestial radiance fold me round, 

I bid thee mark this solemn seal and sign 
Of love as heaven high, as hell profound: 

“Six thousand years the AVestern AVorld has 
lain, 

In sun and shade, slow-ripening for the 
hour, 

AVhen, watered well with tears of human 
pain, 

Should burst to bloom Time’s youngest, 
fairest flower. 

“And till the seas from their firm base be 
poured, 

Till stars shall fail, the fervent sun grow 
cold, 

Yea! till the quick and dead shall meet their 
Lord, 

That flower its living blossoms shall un¬ 
fold. 

“ Its subtle sweetness shall pervade the earth, 
And whoso breathes thereof no more shall 
know 

The bitterness of hate, the mortal dearth 
Of love and life, that from oppression 
flow. 

“Yea, when thy dust has mingled with the 
sod, 

When like a vapor thou hast passed away, 

Thy land shall know, beneath the smile of 
God, » 

Each morn the dawn of some more <dori- 

O 

ous day.” 


Then ’fore my awe-struck gaze the future 
rent, 

Hung, like a cloud split by the lightning’s 
glee, 

Where thro’ I saw, with joy and wonder 
blent, 

The ripened promise of the fair To-be— 

Saw all the blessings of this present time 
Surpassed and magnified a thousand fold 

A mighty nation in immortal prime, 

Free from the countless burdens known ol 
old. 

AA r ith that grand freedom which is highest 
law— 

AVhile Mercy, Justice, and eternal Love, 

Like yoked stars, with sweetest influence 
draw 

Earth with the self-same power they wield 
above. 

Stirred with this vision’s voiceless ecstasy, 
My soul burst forth from silken bonds of 
sleep 

Athrill, aflame, with hope’s dear agony, 

For mortal words too rapturous and too 
deep. 


CHEERING VOICES FROM MANY LANDS. 

TRANSLATED BY LYDIA M. MILLARD. 
BRILLIANTS. 

In thine own cheerful spirit live, 

Nor seek the calm that others give; 

For thou thyself erect must stand, 

Not held upright by others’ hands.— Greek. 

FROM THE SWEDISH. 

A soul, blue-skied, that always sees 
Some sunshine in the dark, 

Can ever find some heavenly breeze 
To help its trembling bark. 

FROM THE SPANISH. 

Bear, with all thy bravest power, 

All that heaven hath sent to thee; 
Now a grave and now a bower, 

Ever mortal lot must be. 

FROM THE LATIN. 

1 hough sorrow hover round thee now, 
Joy may bo coming soon ; 

Not always bends Apollo’s bow— 

His silent lyre may tune. 

FROM THE DANISH. 

Lilt thy head, throw off thy sadness, 
Never let the joy-buds cbill; 

If thou nurso each germ of gladness, 
Gladness all thy life may fill. 


FROM THE GERMAN. 

Oh, who can stretch himself in ease 
Before the world’s most glorious deeds? 

In indolence can bow 
AVhen martyrs, saints, and heroes all 
Do after him unceasing call, 

O idler, what art thou ? 

FROM THE FRENCH. 

God is the author great, and men but players 
all; 

To each some part is given ; 

The grandest acts performed on earth 
AVere all composed in heaven. 

FROM THE GREEK. 

If we reach not the height we seek, 

AVe need not blame our fortune drear; 
For to our own small selves belongs 
The blame of our small sphere. 

FROM THE ITALIAN. 

The rock, that’s whitened by the wave, 
Its battered head must quiet keep; 

Now smoothly on it seems to glide, 

Now buried ’neath the towering tide. 

But when the sea grows calm and sweet, 
It comes at last to kiss its feet. 

FROM THE GREEK. 

Thou silent Unheard One, 

All voices dost tone, 

All worlds giving music 
From border to throne. 

Look down on our weakness 
And pity our sin, 

And help us Thy greatness 
Forever to hymn. 

FROM THE GERMAN. 

Sound, sound, some heavenly bell! 

And call us all to pray; 

To love some real good so well 
AA r e’ll chase no phantom gay. 

FROM THE SWEDISH. 

How mortal greatness sinks to nought, 
And earth’s sweet music dies, 

AAhen to eternity our thought 
On wings of hope doth rise. 


AVho sedulously attends, pointedly asks, 
calmly speaks, coolly answers, and ceases 
when he has no more to say, is in possession 
of some of the best requisites of man. 

Assume a cheerfulness in society, it y ou 
have it not. 

















PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


39 



PETER COOPER. 

There are some capitalists whose pros¬ 
perity excites no rancor. In their case the 
ancient feud between capital and labor seems 
to be suspended, and instead of mutual fear 
and distrust, a relation of confidence, good 
will, and even affection springs up between 
them and the poor. Pre-eminent among 
these fortunate ones stands the venerable 
Peter Cooper. Few have been so bounte¬ 
ously blessed by fortune, and few are so 
generally esteemed and beloved. That be 
has manfully earned bis wealth by his own 
exertions does not explain this. Others have 
done the same, and yet are heartily hated. 
The explanation is the character of the man 
himself; his simple, ingenuous nature, and, 
above all, his genuine benevolence and good¬ 
ness of heart. A few of the salient points of 
his career, a study of which should be profit¬ 
able and entertaining to every young man, 
are as follows: 

Peter Cooper was born in New ’t ork, 
February 12, 1791. He came of an old and 
respectable family, his grandfather and father 
both being officers in the war of the Revo¬ 


lution. Ilis father was unfortunate in busi¬ 
ness, and could give his son only meagre 
educational advantages. For a single year 
he attended school one-half of each day, and 
beyond the knowledge thus gained his ac¬ 
quisitions are entirely his own. When sev¬ 
enteen years old he began, as an apprentice, 
to learn the trade of coachmaking, and 
showed such ability and faithfulness that 
when his time expired his master offered 
to set him up in business. This offer he de¬ 
clined, and for a time worked at his trade, 
lie then successively engaged in the manu¬ 
facture of patent machines for shearing cloth, 
in the manufacture of cabinet ware, then in 
the grocery business in New York City, and 
finally in the manufacture of glue and isin- 
ti'lass, which he carried on for half a century. 
He early saw the capabilities of the country 
for the manufacture of iron, and in 1830 en¬ 
gaged extensively in this business at Canton, 
near Baltimore. After disposing of bis works 
there, he erected in New York a rolling and 
wire mill, in which he first successfully ap¬ 
plied anthracite to the puddling of iron. 
In 1845 ho removed the machinery to Tren¬ 


ton, N. J., and erected, for the manufacture 
of railroad iron, the then largest rolling-mill 
in the United States. Here he was subse¬ 
quent^ the first to roll wrought-iron beams 
for fire-proof buildings. These works, now 
very extensive, are still carried on by Mr. 
Cooper’s family. While in Baltimore Mr. 
Cooper gave striking evidence of that enter¬ 
prise and originality which are the main fac¬ 
tors of his success. From his own designs he 
built the first locomotive engine constructed 
on this continent, and it was put into practical 
and successful use on the Baltimore & Ohio 
Railroad. He invested largely in the electric 
telegraph, and took great interest in its de¬ 
velopment. Nor was he remiss, amid all 
these great business undertakings, in his 
duties as a citizen. He was a member of 
both branches of the New York Common 
Council, and was a zealous advocate of the 
construction of the Croton Aqueduct. 

The education and elevation of the work¬ 
ing classes early enlisted his attention, 
and commanded his warmest sympathies. 
He beeamo a trustee of the Public School 
Society, and afterwards its vice-president. 









40 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


Ho also became School Commissioner, but 
saw clearly the inability of tho common 
school system to supply a technological 
education. The want of such an education 
be bad felt bitterly in his young and ambi¬ 
tious youth, and be now began the great 
work of his life by establishing an institu¬ 
tion which should give to others the advan¬ 
tages for which he bad longed in vain. At 
a cost of over $050,000, be erected the 
“ Cooper Institute,” at the conjunction of 
Third and Fourth Avenues, between Se¬ 
venth and Eighth Streets. This building, to 
which be has since given $150,000, is de¬ 
voted, by a deed of trust, with all its rents, 
issues, and profits, to the instruction and 
elevation of the working classes of New 
York City. At night regular courses of in¬ 
struction are given, free, to all who wish to 
attend, on social and political science, on the 
practical application of sciences, and on such 
other branches of knowledge as have an 
improving and elevating tendency. There 
are also a school of design for females, a free 
reading-room and library largely resorted to, 
galleries of art, collections of models of in¬ 
ventions, and a polytechnic school. The 
evening schools are attended by 2000 pupils, 
mostly young mechanics, who study engi¬ 
neering, mining, metallurgy, analytic and 
synthetic chemistry, architectural drawing, 
and practical building. For women there 
are also a school of telegraphy, a school of 
wood engraving, and a school of photogra¬ 
phy, all of which are free, and are largely at¬ 
tended. These facts, mostly taken from the 
American Encyclopaedia, show the great good 
which can be accomplished by a wise use of 
money. By providing gratuitous instruc¬ 
tion and a pleasant resort for all, where 
time that otherwise might have been trifled 
away or spent in vicious indulgences, may 
be turned to profitable account, Cooper In¬ 
stitute has done, and will continue to do, 
incalculable good. It will stand forever as 
a memento of genuine philanthropy, and 
will prove its founder’s best monument. It 
must interest many to know that this vener¬ 
able man. at the great age of ninety years, 
still retains bis faculties in a wonderful de¬ 
gree, and has even lately shown by active 
sympathy and co-operation with the anti- 
monopoly agitation, and with other public 
and philanthropic movements, that age has 
not dulled his spirit, nor made him less a 
lover of bis kind. 


SARAH BEDELL COOPER. 

Sarah Bedell, wife of Peter Cooper, was 
born at Hempstead, on Long Island, in tho 
State of New York, on the 22d day of 
August, A.D. 1793. 

Her parents, Benjamin and Mary Raynor 
Bedell, were substantial farmers, working 


their own lands for a livelihood. Their chil¬ 
dren, ten in number, of whom Mrs. Coopei 
was the seventh, were all brought up in hab¬ 
its of industry and frugality; and, according 
to the primitive customs of Long Island, the 
daughters were trained to the use of the 
spinning-wheel and loom, supplying the 
household with home-made linens and wool¬ 
lens. 

The parents were earnest Methodists, and 
the children were early instructed in the 
simple lessons of the religion of Christ; and 
being thus trained in the way they should 
go, when they were old they did not depart 
from it. 

On the 22d day of December, a.d. 1813, 
being then in her twenty-first year, the sub¬ 
ject of this notice was married to Peter 
Cooper, at that time a mechanic, earning 
bis living by the labor of his own hands. 

Six children were the fruit of this union, 
four of whom died in childhood, and two 
survive to cherish the memory of their 
mother, as a .priceless inheritance for them¬ 
selves and their children. 

Mrs. Cooper departed this life on the 19th 
day of December, a.d. 1869, in the seventy- 
seventh year of her age, and was buried in 
Greenwood Cemetery on the 22d of Decem¬ 
ber; by a touching coincidence, on the fifty- 
sixth anniversary of her wedding-day. 

The funeral services were held in All 
Souls’ Church, of which she had for many 
years been a member. The Rev. Henry W. 
Bellows delivered an address, so just, so full 
of feeling, and so rich in lessons of virtue for 
those who survive, that by general desire it 
was printed for private circulation, with 
the beautiful and appropriate selections from 
the Proverbs of Solomon, with which it was 
preceded. It is a subject of regret that Dr. 
Bellows was unable to reproduce the inspired 
words of extemporaneous prayer, with which 
be seemed almost to carry bis hearers up to 
heaven, and open its golden gates for the 
admission of the departed wife, mother, and 
friend. 

PROVERBS OF SOLOMON. 

Ciiap. xxxi. Verses 10-31. 

Mho can find a virtuous woman ? for her 
price is far above rubies. 

The heart of her husband doth safely trust 
in her, so that be shall have no need of spoil. 

She will do him good and not evil all the 
days of her life. 

She seeketb wool, and flax, and worketh 
willingly with her hands. 

She is like the merchants’ ships; she 
bringeth her food from afar. 

She riseth also while it is yet night, and 
giveth meat to her household, and a portion 
to her maidons. 

She considereth a field, and buyeth it; 
with the fruit of her bands she planteth a 
vineyard. 


She girdeth her loins with strength, and 
strengtheneth her arms. 

She perceiveth that her merchandise is 
good: her candle goeth not out by night. 

She layeth her hands to the spindle, and 
her hands hold the distaff. 

She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; 
yea, she rcacheth forth her hands to the 
needy. 

She is not afraid of the snow for her 
household: for all her household are clothed 
with scarlet. 

She maketh herself coverings of tapestry; 
her clothing is silk and purple. 

Her husband is known in the gates, when 
be sitteth among the elders of the land. 

She maketh fine linen, and selleth it; and 
delivereth girdles unto the merchant. 

Strength and honor are her clothing; and 
she shall rejoice in time to come. 

She openeth her mouth with wisdom ; and 
in her tongue is the law of kindness. 

She looketh well to the ways of her house¬ 
hold, and eateth not the bread of idleness. 

Her children arise up, and call her blessed; 
her husband also, and he praiseth her. 

Many daughters have done virtuously, but 
tbou excellest them all. 

Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain : but 
a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be 
praised. 

Give ber of the fruit of her hands; and 
let her own works praise her in the gates. 

[From the Liberal Christian.] 

FUNERAL OF MRS. PETER COOPER. 

A very large company of sincere mourners 
assembled in All Souls’ Cburcli on Wednes¬ 
day, December 22, 1869, at noon, to join in 
the funeral services over the remains of the 
late Mrs. Peter Cooper. The pelting rain 
could not keep even old men and women, 
seldom found in public assemblies, from 
paying the tribute of their presence to such 
modest worth. Seldom has a company of 
such dignity and excellence been found united 
in attendance on any private, much lesson any 
woman’s funeral. Catholics and Protestants, 
orthodox and heterodox, rich and poor, were 
there, in a common acknowledgment of the 
virtue and piety of a blameless and useful lile, 
which rose far above the level of sectarian or 
social distinctions. After selections from the 
Scriptures, prayer, and the burial service,with 
appropriate music beautifully rendered by 
the choir, the pastor of the church delivered 
the following address: 

ADDRESS OF HENRY W. BELLOWS, D.D. 

Ordinarily, silence is better than much 
speaking when we stand at tho graves 
mouth and consign a human soul, its earthly 
labors and probation over, to the judgment 
and the mercy of the I nfinite One. And this is 
specially true of thoso who, by sex, by habit, 
and by choice, have lived in tho retirement 














41 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. 


GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


cind quietude of a woman’s lot in domestic 
and strictly private life. Could the dumb 
lips before us speak, they would doubtless 
hush all words of eulogy and forbid all fur¬ 
ther speech. But there arc duties to the 
living which are more imperative than those 
demanded by the dead. They are far beyond 
°ur praise and blame, and have already en¬ 
tered into that rest which nothing we do or 
forbear can disturb. But our hearts crave 
some expression ; our grief some utterance. 
So full and rounded a life as hers must not 
be lost out of tbe circle of our immediate 
communion without some record of its 
graces; and be it said, with respect to the 
sensitive feelings of surviving friends here 
present with us, this loss is not merely a 
private one. It affects a household pecu¬ 
liarly dear to this community,—one whose 
griefs echo through all homes ; it awakens 
general interest which deserves to be con¬ 
sidered. A public benefactor has lost half 
himself; and he who so long thought of 
others with loving solicitude becomes now 
the object of their tender sympathy and 
condolence. Let me, then, with becoming 
restraint, and as much delicacy as so modest 
and retiring a spirit would demand to be 
spoken of, say what is in my heart of the 
character of the honored woman whose 
funeral has assembled so many mourners, 
even in the driving storm. 

I will not dwell upon the mere dates, and 
lineage, and outward history of the life of 
the excellent woman whose dust here awaits 
its burial. Born in respectable circum¬ 
stances, of honest blood, reared to industry 
and self-denial, her providential lot united 
her at an early period to the husband whose 
blessed companion she has been for more 
than half a century. Ilis toils and anxieties 
she shared during the long, patient, persist¬ 
ent struggle with the difficulties that always 
beset self-made fortune and self-made men 
and women; his home she ordered and 
brightened, and enriched with her native 
industry, fidelity, and cheerfulness; his judg¬ 
ment she steadied by her weighty good 
sense; his prosperity she helped to keep 
modest and unpretending; his beneficence 
proceeded in no small part from the re¬ 
sults of her prudence and economy, and 
from the fixed habit of serviceableness to 
others, which bad its root in her essential 
goodness of heart, but was confirmed by 
practice, enlightened by experience, and 
perfected by religious principles. 

God alone can sum up and estimate the 
value of a life characteristically unselfish 
from beginning to end ; in which, to human 
observation, every throb of the heart has 
been in the interest of virtue and goodness. 
Who but lie can measure tbe worth of 
nearly eighty years of spotless fidelity to 
truth and ceaseless devotion to duty—each 
year, each month, each day, each houi, 10- 


cording its noiseless act of self-control, for¬ 
bearance with others, training and counsel 
for children, sympathy and support for hus¬ 
band and friend; action, solicitude for sor¬ 
rowing, sick, and tempted neighbors; steady 
provision for the pleasure and profit of 
humble dependents; a hand open to its full¬ 
est extent, and a heart tender and full of 
sincere charity and peace with all the 
world? It is not what such lovely and vir¬ 
tuous matrons do, so much as what they 
are, that wins our deepest reverence and 
love. It was the atmosphere of purity and 
sunshine that enveloped our departed sister 
that made her so especially dear, and marked 
her out as compounded of the finest and 
sweetest elements of our common nature. 
She was a pillar of rest! Strife and discon¬ 
tent, disorder and murmurs, could not live 
long in her gentle presence. Like sunshine 
in a shady place, she banished the damps of 
worldly care and the poisonous dews of envy 
and jealousy. Iler household gathered 
round her as we gather from the winter’s 
cold about the genial fireside. Her gen¬ 
erous, outgrowing heart and ready love 
melted the frosts of custom and the snows 
of formality and all the icicles of glittering 
pride away. It was impossible to be artifi¬ 
cial, false, pretentious in her sincere and 
simple presence. And how full and steady 
and strong the love she gave and drew 
towards her! To-day, the fifty-sixth anni¬ 
versary of her wedding, her honored hus¬ 
band could testify that age had done noth¬ 
ing, to the last, to weaken the fervor, nay, 
hardly to diminish the romance of the union 
which had been blessed with unbroken 
peace, with uninterrupted confidence, with 
steady delight in each other’s companion¬ 
ship; and what an inheritance do not her 
surviving children possess, in the memory 
of such a devoted, faithful, and exemplary 
mother! Mother, holiest of earthly names, 
was perhaps never more beautifully honored 
than in her person. Her children rise up 
and call her blessed; and oh ! how many 
children besides those early lost, and those 
of her very blood, had not this motherly 
heart! llow many nieces, cousins, kindred, 
weep over her to-day, as over our own 
mother! Such hospitality of house and 
heart; such love of her familiar friends; 
such unwearied faithfulness to all their 
needs had this generous, womanly soul! 

Nor was this sweetness and goodness the 
fruit of constitutional amiability merely. 
Without that indeed her character could not 
have been what it was; but without some¬ 
thing besides, it would certainly have lacked 
the wisdom and judgment, the prudence and 
self-restraint that marked her beneficence. 
She was no careless and sentimental almoner, 
hushing the sensitiveness of her own aching 
pity by ministering indiscriminately to the 
cries of idleness, imposture, and vico. She 


had known too well herself the discipline of 
honest toil, the uses of a self-denying econ¬ 
omy, not to feel a strong disapprobation for 
sloth and self-indulgence. Nor was pov¬ 
erty, in her experience, such an unmitigated 
misfortune as to be treated with hasty and 
demoralizing largesses. She set no such 
valuation upon superfluity and luxury as to 
pity excessively those who taxed them. 
Her charities, constant and numerous, were 
painstaking, thoughtful, considerate. She 
gave as much counsel as money, and as 
much time as means to this responsible 
office,—.one of tbe most serious and difficult 
of all Christian duties,—the prudent, wise 
exercise of charity. If all the hearts here 
present could tell their own experience of 
j her patient, wise, and prudent beneficence, 
it would fill these courts with the frankin¬ 
cense of honest gratitude and merited praise! 

Modest and silent as our revered mother 
in Israel was, few could have known her well 
j and not observed the fixed and firm convic¬ 
tions and settled opinions which gave quiet 
dignity and weight to her character. She 
was no gentle echo of others’ thoughts and 
feelings. She had her own inward prompt¬ 
ings, her own deep experience, her own firm 
opinions, and it was to her honor that the 
fondest affection could not disturb her bal¬ 
ance or influence her Avell-considered con¬ 
clusions. I verily believe she would have 
willingly died for her country in the mo¬ 
ment of its greatest peril. Like all loving 
and weighty characters, she possessed a 
quiet sense of humor and wit which often 
| played about the domestic sky like summer 
lightning, and when partial blindness bad 
made her, to some extent, a prisoner at 
I home, she found in the rich conversation at 
I her hospitable table a rare enjoyment 
through the intelligent appreciation she lent 
to all discussions and all interchanges of 
pleasantry and of knowledge and opinion. 

Of course the root of all her worth was 
practical piety,—a faith not formalized in 
dogmas, but living in her heart as the sap lives 
in the rose-bush and supplies its flowers and 
their fragrance. She had an unaffected, 
j pervading, and serene piety,—a fixed habit 
of trust in God and submission to His will. 
Brought up in the days when the Bible was 
the chief reading in the households of 
America, and before sectarian novelties and 
dogmatic distinctions had torn the Gospel 
limb from limb, she wore the seamless robe 
of the Master’s simple, loving faith. Un¬ 
affected humility, unfaltering trust, silent 
acquiescence, patient discharge of daily 
duty, steady deference to her heavenly 
Father’s will and love of the holy Master's 
spirit and example. Tried with one of the 
1 most depressing of infirmities during the 
last years of her life, and condemned to 
much inactivity after a most active ma¬ 
turity, it was touching to witness her forti- 















42 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


tude and patience, and to see bow she still 
did what she could for others, and was 
utterly uncomplaining. Death could have 
no terrors for such a spirit. Iler own lov¬ 
ing heart taught her what God’s infinite love 
must be; her own careful providence for 
others gave her complete confidence in the 
Father’s perfeel providence for her and for 
those she left behind. 

As we lay these sacred remains in the 
grave, let us not forget that we are burying 
one of the last witnesses and examples of 
the earlier and better days of our national 
life! It was mothers such as she proved 
that landed December 22, 1620, upon Ply¬ 
mouth Rock, with those Pilgrim Fathers 
whose virtues, this very day, will be the sub¬ 
ject of loving eulogy in festive assemblies in 
various parts of the land. 

Laborious, enterprising, making light of 
hardships, expecting little worldly comfort, 
moderate in their hopes and grateful for 
every blessing vouchsafed to them, the pil¬ 
grim fathers and mothers lived for truth, 
duty, liberty of conscience, and to establish 
the kingdom of God in the earth. They 
toiled so resolutely and successfully that their 
children have inherited the external fruits 
of their labors, even more than the severe 
and persistent, the self-denying and God¬ 
fearing graces and virtues which marked 
their characters. We share none of their 
hardships and too few of their excellencies. 
But we have inherited the religious, social, 
educational, and domestic institutions they 
planted in the wilderness, and watered with 
their tears and their blood. Mrs. Cooper 
was not of Puritan, but probably of Hu¬ 
guenot descent,—an earlier sort of Puritans, 
whose sacrifices and whose St. Bartholomew 
the world recalls with mingled pride and 
horror. 

That noble style of Christian matron which 
could either walk unflinchingly to the block, 
like a hundred French Huguenot dames, 
sooner than disown their faith, or, like our 
American mothers, defend themselves aerainst ! 
Indian warriors with their husbands’ mus¬ 
kets; or plough and sow the fields when the 
men were out on the savages’ trail; or bear 
with famine and cold in uncomplaining forti¬ 
tude, or die amid untold sacrifices and wants, ! 
without one murmur against God or their 
lot,—that noble class had worthy examples 
and descendants when the honored woman, 
whose dust we wet with grateful tears, be- ! 
gan her married life. You behold here no 
feeble relic of dainty idleness, and unstrung 
fibres, and soft and tended weakness. Hero 
is what is left of a frame that has used every 
nerve and tissue in human service, house¬ 
hold cares, diligent and painstaking duty to 
husband, children, and dependents, llerearo 
the ashes of a woman of the Puritan and 
Huguenot spirit,—one who knew nothing 
about the modern discontent with woman’s 


sphere ; nothing about the weariness of 
leisure and the lack of adequate occupation ; 
nothing about the inequality of her woman’s 
lot, or the monotony and oppression of a 
wife’s and mother’s duties. She found the 
place Providence gave her large enough for 
all her gifts, tasking and rewarding to all 
her efforts, and she did her full part in mak¬ 
ing, and keeping, and spending the family 
fortunes. Shall we not bless and magnify 
the memory of those who seem to be among 
the last of the dignified, contented repre¬ 
sentatives of true womanhood,—the women 
that are keepers at home; that bless their 
husbands and children, and praise God for 
having made them women and not men ? 

And what a rebuke does the constancy of 
this long and happy union give to lax notions 
of the marriage-bond, which many foes of 
society and the Gospel would make a mere 
personal contract, with neither God nor 
society for its witness; binding only so long 
as fancy or feeling may sanction it, and 
legitimately broken at the call of passion or 
a stronger preference! 

It is meet that we should bury, on the 
22d of December, the anniversary of the 
Pilgrims’ landing, this fitting representative 
of their matronly virtues. Among the last 
of that school, it is a beautiful coincidence 
that she should have been married and bur¬ 
ied on the day that commemorates their 
landing upon our native soil. Seventy-seven 
years of life places her birth seven years 
back on the last century,—before our infant 
institutions had hardened into gristle, or 
were beyond some shaping from her gentle 
hand. Fifty-six years of married life car¬ 
ries her domestic establishment back to 
the old war with England. What a repre¬ 
sentative, then, does this woman form of 
the life of the nation, and how in her meet 
the experiences and qualities that have char¬ 
acterized its fortunes! 

Tenderly we lay her ashes in their resting- 
place. Fondly we bless her matronly, moth¬ 
erly, and wifely virtues. Gratefully we ac¬ 
knowledge God’s goodness in crowning her 
useful life with so many blessings, and spar¬ 
ing it so long! Piously we commit her pure 
and gentle spirit to God who gave it, and 
await the happy hour when, in the faith 
of Christ, her household and her friends 
will rejoin her sainted soul in the immortal 
world of spirits ! 


The setting of a great hope is like the 
setting of the sun. The brightness of our 
life is gone, shadows of the evening fall 
around us, and the world seems but a dim 
reflection of itself,—a broader shadow. We 
look forward into the coming lonely night; 
the soul withdraws itself. Then stars arise, 
and the night is holy.— Longfellow . 


THOMAS A. SCOTT. 

THE HUMBLE MOUNTAIN BOY AND THE GREAT 

ADMINISTRATOR OF THE LAND—EVENTS 
IN A MATCHLESS CAREER. 

Colonel Thomas A. Scott died at his coun¬ 
try residence, near Darby, at 2.10 p.m., May 
26, 1881, from paralysis, in the fifty-eighth 
year of his age. The primary cause of par¬ 
alysis in his case was a Pall from a locomo¬ 
tive when Superintendent of the WYstern 
division of the Pennsylvania Railroad, more 
than thirty years ago, by which he suffered 
a violent concussion of the brain. Its effect 
was always more or less noticeable in the 
involuntary muscular twitching of the left 
cheek and eye, especially when he was ex¬ 
hausted by severe labor, as often happened 
during his singularly active life. When 
severely prostrated by over exertion his left 
side and limbs would become chilly and slug¬ 
gish. It was not until the fall of 1868 that 
he experienced a distinctive paralytic stroke. 
While sitting at his desk in the president’s 
office, he suddenly, without previous pain or 
premonition, became paralyzed on the left 
side from the face to the extremities. It 
was not so violent as to make him insensible 
of his condition. He called his secretary 
and sent for his son, and told them that he 
had become paralyzed. He drove in his 
carriage to Dr. Mitchell, was aided into the 
office, and, after consultation with his physi¬ 
cian, he returned to his home in the country. 
The nature of his attack was withheld from 
the public for some days, but it gradually 
became known that he had suffered a para¬ 
lytic stroke, and would not be able to resume 
the active official discharge of his duties for 
some months. He and his family soon after 
sailed for Europe, where he remained for a 
year or more, employing the best remedies 
suggested by the most accomplished medical 
skill. He rapidly improved for some time, 
but before he returned it became evident to 
all that his restoration was not to be hoped 
for. After he returned he resumed the 
more general duties of the presidency of the 
great corporation under his direction, but 
much as he was relieved by the faithful and 
competent official associates about him, it 
was not long until he was admonished by 
his physicians that he must entirely sepa¬ 
rate himself from all business cares. He 
resigned the presidency on the 1st of May, 
1880, and had since then been relieving 
himself as much as possible from all business 
cares, even divesting himself of all control 
and interest in the Texas Pacific Company, 
one of the great projects with which he was 
most potentially connected, lie continued 
his private oliice in the Pennsylvania Rail¬ 
road building, and visited it daily, as a rule, 
where lie gladly welcomed his friends and 
often exhibited his old-time interest in mat¬ 
ters of public moment. During the last 









PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


43 


winter it was evident to his family and 
friends that he was gradually failing in 
strength, and his speech became .more indis¬ 
tinct and difficult. He visited Florida in 
company with a small circle of old friends, 
but returned without perceptible improve¬ 
ment. On Tuesday, May 3, he was at his 
office as usual, but returned home somewhat 
depressed. During the early part of the 
evening he was very nervous, and he retired 
to bed at six o’clock. lie continued restless 
during most of the night, and the entire par¬ 
alysis of the left side and limbs followed. 
His death was apprehended for several daj^s, 
but his wonderful physical organization 
rallied unexpectedly, and he became so much 
better that he was removed to his country 
residence, near Darby, on Monday, May 16. 
There was no marked change in his con¬ 
dition until Thursday evening, May 19, 
when he suffered a rather sudden relapse, 
falling into a condition of half stupor, which 
gradually became so much worse that Friday 
morning Dr. Bartleson expressed a fear that 
the patient would not live twenty-four hours 
longer. All that day and the next he re¬ 
mained as if asleep, seldom opening his eyes 
and showing little or no sign of pain. While 
there was evidence of sensibility, he was 
unable to recognize anybody, and in this 
condition he remained without any material 
change until his death. 

At dusk the end was felt to be fast ap¬ 
proaching, and the members of his family 
were almost constantly at his side. With 
faint, long breaths, gradually lessening, until 
a complete peacefulness came over his face 
and every movement ceased, he passed away, 
apparently without a touch of pain. Al¬ 
though they had long expected what they 
knew to be inevitable, the blow fell heavily 
upon his relatives at last. Besides his son, 
James P. Scott, there were with him when 
he died his wife, his daughter, Mrs. Howell 
W. Bickley, Mr. Bickley, Mr. Barclay, his 
private secretary, to whom he was greatly 
attached, and a few others. 

AN EVENTFUL CAREER—THE ADVANCE OF THE 
MOUNTAIN BOY TO THE HEAD OF THE 
GREAT RAILWAY. 

Thomas Alexander Scott was born in the 
village of London, Franklin County, Penn¬ 
sylvania, on the 28th of December, 1823. 
This little town was merely a few straggling- 
houses on both sides of the Baltimore and 
Pittsburg turnpike, then the great highway 
to the West, and close under the shadows of 
Cove Mountain. The village inn, kept by 
his father, was almost daily enlivened by the 
trains of Conestoga teams which then 
freighted the commerce between the East 
and the West, and the younger Scott was the 
utility lad of the rustic home for the way¬ 
farer. His only educational opportunities 
consisted of the common school of his neigh¬ 






borhood, and the necessity of constant em¬ 
ployment to support himself limited his 
schooling mainly to what he could attain in 
early boyhood. When only ten years of 
age he found employment in a country store 
near Waynesboro’, in his native county, and 
he was subsequently employed in Bridgeport 
and Mercersburg, near his birthplace, until 
1841, when Major Patton, his brother-in-law, 
then collector of tolls on the State Railroad 
at Columbia, promoted him to a clerkship in 
the State office. In 1847 Mr. A. Boyd Cum¬ 
mings, yet a resident of Philadelphia, was 
collector on the State Railroad for Philadel¬ 
phia , and he called Scott to the chief position 
in the most important collector’s office in 
the State. He developed so broadly as a 
man of keen perception and rapid and me¬ 
thodical execution that he attracted the 
attention of Colonel Patterson, President of 
the Pennsylvania Railroad Company, and in 
1861 he was transferred to the railroad that 
he has been mainly instrumental in making 
the first railway corporation of the world, 
and that has made his name immortal among 
men of greatest achievements in the material 
progress of the country. Ilis first railroad 
assignment was the charge of the Portage 
Railroad on the Alleghanies, that had to be 
used by the Pennsylvania Company until 
its line could be completed and the use of in¬ 
clined plane and stationary engines dispensed 
with. Subsequently he was given the charge 
of the construction of the Western Division, 
and on its completion he was made Superin¬ 
tendent of the division, with his office at 
Pittsburg. In 1858 he was promoted to 
General Superintendent of the entire road, 
with his office at Altoona, and in 1860, when 
the office of Yice-President of the company 
became vacant by the death of William B. 
Foster, he was unanimously chosen as Yiee- 
President, and he thus became the second 
executive officer of the corporation. In 1861, 
although his services were greatly needed 
by the railroad, he was prevailed upon by 
President Lincoln and Secretary Cameron to 
accept the position of Assistant Secretary of 
War, and it was his wonderful administra¬ 
tive qualities which enabled the transporta¬ 
tion department of the government to be 
systematized. In 1862, as soon as he could 
be spared, he resigned the office of Assistant 
Secretary of War; but that did not relieve 
him from repeated impressment in the ser¬ 
vice of the government, to aid in handling 
our vast armies. When a grave emergency 
arose, and large bodies of troops had to be 
transferred with the utmost caution and ce¬ 
lerity, the man to whom the President and 
Secretary of War turned was Thomas A. 
Scott. After the disastrous battle of Chicka- 
mauga he was dispatched to Louisville to 
facilitate the transfer of the Eleventh and 
Twelfth Army Corps via Nashville to the 
relief of Rosccrans, at Chattanooga, and the 










country rejoiced, after the most painful ap¬ 
prehension and suspense, when the news was 
flashed throughout the land that the Army 
of the Tennessee was reinforced and safe. 
Concluding his labors as Assistant Secretary 
of War, Colonel Scott returned to the active 
service of the great railroad corporation. 
The records of the company which from 
time to time honored him with such signal 
trusts, show one steady, continuous advance¬ 
ment in position and power until he became 
its President, on June 3, 1874. 

SECURING THE WESTERN TRAFFIC. 

As early as 1852 the stockholders had 
authorized subscriptions in aid of the Ohio 
and Pennsylvania, and the Ohio and Indiana 
Roads, afterwards consolidated into the 
Pittsburg, Fort Wa 3 *ne and Chicago Rail¬ 
way, the Springfield and Mt. Yernon, and 
Marietta and Cincinnati Roads, with a view 
of securing connections with Chicago and 
Cincinnati. In 1854 the}' authorized the 
indorsement of the bonds of the Steubenville 
and Indiana Railroad, in order to secure the 
completion of the most direct line to Cin¬ 
cinnati, Indianapolis, and St. Louis. In 
1858, to secure the completion of the Fort 
Wayne Road to Chicago, they loaned to 
that road the iron rails taken from the 
Portage Road, so that on the 25th of De¬ 
cember of that year it was open to traffic 
for its entire length. In 1864 the Steuben¬ 
ville and Indiana Railroad was completed 
through to Columbus, and the profit realized 
upon the investment made on the Fort 
Wayne Road was invested in the Pittsburg 
and Steubenville Line. In 1868 this road 
was consolidated with the Pittsburg and 
Steubenville Road, and the Holliday’s Cove 
Road, into the Pittsburg, Cincinnati and St. 
Louis Railway, and the following year, in 
order to prevent the Erie Railway from 
securing the control of the Columbus, Chi¬ 
cago and Indiana Central Railway lines to 
Chicago and Indianapolis, a lease was per¬ 
fected of that system to the Pan Handle 
Road, under the guarantee of the Pennsyl-* 
vania Railroad Company. This lease prac¬ 
tically reversed the policy heretofore pursued 
by the company, which had been to reach 
the traffic of the Northwest and Southwest 
by assisting the construction of tributary 
lines leading into the markets of those 
sections, but not to control their manage¬ 
ment be}'ond the State of Pennsylvania. It 
was the first of a step in a new departure, 
and inaugurated a bolder and more aiiirres- 
sive campaign. The growing traffic of the 
West had become too rich a prize to be 
allowed to pass into rival hands, and Mr. 
Scott was quick to discern tho favorable 
time for action, and secure tho prize in ad¬ 
vance of all competitors. The lease of the 
C., C., and I. C. Line was quickly followed 
by that of the Little Miami, the Fort Wayne 















44 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


and Chicago, the Erie and Pittsburg, and 
Cleveland and Pittsburg; and it is an incon¬ 
testable proof of tbe sound judgment which 
guided this course that tho latter three 
leases have yielded a million of dollars profit 
annually to the Pennsylvania Railroad Com¬ 
pany, and that the bonds of that company, 
bearing but four and a half per cent, interest, 
and having these leases as their main secu¬ 
rity, are now selling in the market above 
par. The lease of the Jeffersonville, Madison 
and Indianapolis Road, in 1873, perfected 
the connection to Louisville, and secured the 
control of the bridge at that point, the one 
at Cincinnati being also under the control of 
the Pennsylvania Road. The construction 
of the Vandalia Line gave to that system 
the best line to St. Louis, while a half- 
ownership in the Indianapolis and St. Louis 
Road, and its control of the Alton and Terre 
Haute, gave it an equal voice in the direction 
of the rival route. In addition to this ex¬ 
tensive network of railways, the Indianapolis 
and Vincennes, Cincinnati and Muskingum 
Valley, Grand Rapids and Indiana, Cincin¬ 
nati and Richmond, and Fort Wayne, Ash¬ 
tabula, and Pittsburg, and Northwestern 
Ohio, are all under the same management, 
so that the bureau at Pittsburg, known as 
the Pennsylvania Company, and having all 
this 83 ’stem under its supervision, has an 
amount of labor and responsibility resting 
upon it which practically knows neither 
rest nor limit. In 1871, Mr. Scott, as the 
President of the Pennsylvania Company, 
and also as the President of the Pittsburg, 
Cincinnati and St. Louis Railway Company, 
assumed the direct executive management 
of these lines, and from that time until his 
retirement, in 1880, he was the ruling spirit 
in their counsels. Ilis reports give a clear 
and graphic account of the gradual steps by 
which they were moulded into compact and 
powerful organizations, with properties in 
admirable condition, both as to efficiency 
and earning power. 

DISPLAY OF BUSINESS SKILL. 

Wh en he became president of tbe road, 
June 3, 1874, filling the vacancy caused by 
the death of his lamented predecessor, Mr. 
J. Edgar Thomson, one of his first efforts 
was to secure an agreement among the trunk 
lines for the preservation of uniform rates, 
so that all shippers would be placed on an 
equality, and the roads receive a fair remu¬ 
neration for the work done. These efforts 
eventuated in the formation of the East and 
West-bound pools, under which the competi¬ 
tive traffic is divided between the roads in 
proportion to their ability to secure it, and 
carried at tbe lowest rates known in tbe his¬ 
tory of railways. This was followed by tho 
establishment of a Board of Arbitration for 
the settlement of any disputes that might 
arise, and under the influence of these meas¬ 


ures the railway securities of the country, 
instead of being the football of speculators, 
have again become legitimate and secure 
investments. His intimate familiarity with 
the business of the Western lines had early 
convinced him of the necessity of preventing 
the reckless competition and foolish strife 
that had so often prevailed in the past, and 
it was mainly through his efforts that the 
long-continued differences between the Penn¬ 
sylvania Road and the Baltimore and Ohio 
were adjusted, and harmonious relations re¬ 
established between them. 

Always on the alert to meet competition 
and secure the best results for his road, he 
was foremost in securing the establishment 
of the fast freight lines, which was essential 
to retain its share of the through traffic, 
threatened by the inauguration of that sys¬ 
tem by the northern lines; and when, through 
the leases of the Western roads, the Penn¬ 
sylvania Railroad controlled within herself 
the machinery to secure this business, he 
was as prompt to absorb the Union and 
Empire Lines, and obtain for the parent 
company any profit that might result from 
their operation. When the growing com¬ 
merce of Philadelphia necessitated the es¬ 
tablishment of steamship lines they received 
his hearty encouragement and support; and, 
in fact, every measure which served to in¬ 
crease the usefulness of the road and benefit 
Philadelphia had in him a firm and unwav¬ 
ering friend. 

Nor were his efforts confined to the de¬ 
velopment of the Western system. Not even 
second to that was his conviction that the 
local resources of Pennsylvania deserved the 
fullest encouragement, and every branch road 
that promised a reasonable return upon tho 
investment enlisted his active support. The 
Pittsburg, Virginia and Charleston, South¬ 
west Pennsylvania, Bedford and Bridgeport, 
Sunbury and Lewistown, and a score of 
others, owe much to his generous and hearty 
co-operation. lie was keenly alive, also, to 
the requirements of the great line in the 
matter of terminal facilities and perfecting 
communications, and the Connecting Rail¬ 
way, Junction Railroad, River Front Rail¬ 
way, Delaware Extension, Elevated Road, 
and other such projects were promoted by 
his sound judgment. 

FINANCIAL FORESIGHT. 

The lessons of 1873 and 1877 were not lost 
upon him, and after a careful examination of 
the whole ground, and a review of tho obli¬ 
gations resting upon tbe company, bo ma¬ 
tured, and had approved by tbe stockholders, 
the trust fund which is now fairly under way, 
and under the provisions of which the liabili¬ 
ties of tbe road in the shape of guarantees 
and indorsements will bo surely and effectu¬ 
ally provided for out of its surplus revenues. 

But next to the Pennsylvania Railroad his 


name is indissolubly connected with the great 
Southern road across the Continent, the 
Texas and Pacific Railway, whose construc¬ 
tion ho urged and whose battles he fought 
with unwavering faith and unremitting ardor 
for nine years past. Succeeding the late 
Marshall O. Roberts as its president in 1872, 
he was quick to see the national importance 
of the route and the geographical and cli¬ 
matic advantages which it possessed, and al¬ 
most devoted his life and fortune to its suc¬ 
cessful completion. AVhen in the full tide of 
success, the panic of 1873 gave an almost 
mortal blow to all uncompleted enterprises 
and prevented the negotiation of American 
railway bonds abroad, he did not hesitate to 
risk his personal fortune in the undertaking, 
and became its indorser to an amount that 
was only warranted by the soundest faith in 
the future. When Congress was called upon 
to aid the work, by having tbe United States 
guarantee tbe interest on the amount of 
bonds absolutely necessary to build it at the 
then minimum rates for material and labor, 
he spent week after week at Washington, 
during each session, presenting its advan¬ 
tages as a competing route, and urging the 
government not to let the golden opportu¬ 
nity pass to secure a transcontinental line 
in the interest of the people and against the 
existing monopoly. Time has shown the 
wisdom of the course he then urged, and it 
is not his fault that the entire through com- 

O 

merce between the two oceans is now con¬ 
trolled by private capital and in a private 
interest. Time has also proved the sagacity 
with which he weighed the value of this 
national highway, and the securities which 
could not be sold seven years ago are now 
above par in the market. 

DURING THE RIOTS. 

Never, perhaps, did Mr. Scott appear to 
better advantage than during the riots of 
1877, and never was there more need of the 
personal and moral courage which animated 
his whole nature. With the depot and miles 
of cars and engines in flames at Pittsburg; 
with the rioters in force at every prominent 
point between New York and Baltimore on 
the east, and Chicago and St. Louis on the 
west; with the ordinary police force para¬ 
lyzed, the State militia inadequate, and the 
national government averse to interfering 
until the local communities had demon¬ 
strated their inability to suppress disorder; 
with pressure upon all sides to yield to tho 
demands of the strikers, Mr. Scott, with his 
headquarters at the West Philadelphia depot, 
was the central figure controlling the situa¬ 
tion over five thousand miles of road, and 
determined to yield nothing and discuss 
nothing until the lawless element had been 
put down and the men had returned to duty. 
Night and day for over a week he issued his 
telegraphic orders looking to the safety of 








PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


45 


the lines and the property upon them, the 
movement of the troops, and the forwarding 
of supplies, and the books of telegrams that 
passed to and Iro show the tremendous 
strain imposed upon him by the extraor¬ 
dinary occurrences of that period. 

Mr. Scott’s peculiar strength in all emer¬ 
gencies lay in the rapidity with which lie 
reached a conclusion. Hardly would a case 
be stated but his reply was ready, and so 
accurate was his judgment and intuitive his 
perception that he rarely erred. Work thus 
became easy to him, and problems that per¬ 
plexed others were as playthings to his 
trained powers. He thus transacted an al¬ 
most incredible amount of business with per¬ 
fect ease, and when worn out he had the 
rare faculty of dropping asleep instantly and 
snatching the needed rest with the minimum 
loss of time. Ilis enjoyment of social and 
home pleasures was wonderfully keen, and 
after leaving the office, or on returning from 
a long journey, he would be among the fore¬ 
most to take part in pleasant recreation. 
This, no doubt, tempted him to draw still 
more heavily on his wonderful physique, and 
to attempt fx*esh labors when true wisdom 
would have enjoined perfect rest. 

But human strength has limits. Men can¬ 
not work night and day, even though made 
of steel, and after nearly thirty years of un¬ 
intermitting toil the strong man gave way, 
and death has now given him an eternal 
rest. Few die over whom such honest tears 
will be shed as will moisten his grave, and 
fewer still leave such a grand record to those 
who remain behind him. Not only will he 
be remembered for his great achievements as 
a railway chief, but when these have been 
forgotten the memory of his unfailing benevo¬ 
lence, generous friendship, and keen sympa¬ 
thy will be fresh and green above the laurels 
that time may have faded. 


[From Our Second Century.] 

LINES ON THE DEATH OF COL THOMAS A. 
SCOTT. 

He was among the first 

Who did his country’s call obey, 

And now his happy soul is freed, 

And dwells in endless day. 

Then cease, fond wife, oh! cease your tears; 

Dear children, weep no more; 

Behold, a shining crown he wears, 

On that immortal shore. 

Yes, we will dry our tears and look 
To that bright world on high, 

And know it was God’s hand that took 
Our loved one from our side. 

G 


There shall the wife and children meet 
With him they loved on earth, 

And holy joy and pleasure sweet 
Be ushered into birth. 

Then, fare thee well; a last farewell, 
To him we loved, be given; 

Until we meet again, and dwell 
A family in Heaven. 


BISHOP SIMPSON. 


Matthew Simpson, D.D., LL.D., is one of 
the bishops of the Methodist Episcopal 
Church. He was born in Cadiz, Ohio, June 
21, 1811. He received an academic educa¬ 
tion in his native town, and attended Madi¬ 
son College, Pennsylvania, where he was 
elected tutor in his eighteenth year. He 
engaged in teaching, but having studied 
medicine he commenced its practice in 1833. 
About the same time, feeling it his duty to 
enter the ministry, he was licensed to preach 
and was received on trial in the Pittsburg 
Conference. In 1837 he was elected Vice- 
President and Professor of Natural Sciences 
in Alleghany College, and in 1839 was elected 
President of Indiana Asbury University, 
where he remained until 1848, when he was 
elected editor of the Western Christian Advo¬ 
cate. In 1852 he was chosen to the office of 
bishop. lie has visited and held conferences 
in all the States and Territories ; was sent by 
i the General Conference as delegate to the 
Irish and British Conference in 1857, and 
was also a delegate to the Evangelical Alli¬ 
ance in Berlin the same year, from whence 
he extended his travels through Turkey, the 
Holy Land, Egypt, and Greece, returning in 
i 1858. In 1859 he accepted the position of 
President of the Garrett Biblical Institute. 
During the Civil War he delivered a number 
of addresses in behalf of the Union, and was 
urged by the Secretary of War to undertake 
the organization of the freedmen at the es¬ 
tablishment of the bureau, and was after¬ 
wards invited by President Grant to go as 
Commissioner to San Domingo. Both of 
these offers he respectfully declined. In 
1870, at the death of Bishop Kingsley, he 
visited Europe to complete the work which 
had been assigned to him on the Continent, 
and also as a delegate to the English Confer- 
ence. In 1874 he visited Mexico, and in 1875 
again visited Europe to hold the Conference 
of Germany and Switzerland, and meet the 
missionaries on the Continent. He has writ¬ 
ten “A Hundred Years of Methodism,” 
“Lectures on Preaching,” and is editor of 
the “Cyclopaedia of Methodism.” 








We fire indebted for the above article to the 
“Cyclopaedia of Methodism,” L. II. Everts, pub¬ 
lisher, Philadelphia. 


JAMES G. BLAINE. 

There arc few men who hold as high a 
place in the affections of the people of the 
United Slates as James G. Blaine, Chief 
Secretary of State. Born in Massachusetts, 
in 1830, lie received his early education in 
the common schools of his parish, and, at 
the age of seventeen, graduated at Washing¬ 
ton College, Pennsylvania. Removing to 
Maine, he commenced life as a writer on the 
Kennebech Journal , one of the leading papers 
of that State. He became, shortly after¬ 
wards, the editor of the Portland Advertiser , 
an old and influential paper in the East, and, 
as such, acquired an enviable reputation as 
a journalist. He early identified himself 
with the Republican party; his first politi¬ 
cal advancement being to the lower House 
of the Maine Legislature, where he served 
forfouryears with honor and distinction, and 
earned high credit as a ready speaker and 
able debater. During his third term in the 
State Legislature he was elected Speaker, a 
position which he occupied for two years. 

When the civil war broke out between the 
North and South, he sided with the number 
who called out loudly for a vigorous course 
of action on the part of the government, and 
displayed considerable spirit and patriotism 
in the organization of troops for the Union 
army. He was elected to Congress in 1862, 
as a Republican Representative from Maine, 
and soon worked his way to the front ranks 
of the part} 7 . In the Senate he was a zealous 
and unflinching advocate for the preserva¬ 
tion of the Union. He was again returned 
to Congress in 1864, in 1866, and in 1868, 
and took a very active part in the measures 
for the reconstruction and consolidation of 
the republic. To him is credited the provi¬ 
sion that every Southern State should have 
the full restoration of its original rights and 
privileges, upon the sole condition that it 
should ratify the amendments to the Consti¬ 
tution. He served on various committees, 
and, among others, on the Committee on 
Military Affairs, and the special committee 
on the death of President Lincoln, and as 
chairman of that on the war debts of the 
loyal States. lie was among the most 
effective Republican advocates during the 
Presidential canvass of 186S, and carried 
his State by a larger majority than was ever 
before enjoyed by a Republican candidate. 
In the same year, being returned to Con¬ 
gress by an overwhelming majority, he was 
appointed Speaker of the House of Repre¬ 
sentatives, in succession to Mr. Colfax, lie 
was elected to the Senate in 1876, and at 
the Presidential elections of that year, hav¬ 
ing been put forward as a Republican candi¬ 
date, was defeated by an insignificant ma¬ 
jority. In 1880 he was again one of the five 
Republican candidates for the Presidency, 
Grant, Sherman, Edmunds, and Windom 
being the four others; and never, perhaps) 








PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL 


46 


was any one backed by a more enthusiastic 
following. The sympathies and suffrages ot 
the people were with him in an eminent de¬ 
gree. The nature of the proceedings which 
terminated in the disappointment ot his 
party must still be fresh in the recollection 
of all. As one of our leading papers remarked 
at the time, “The failure of his friends to 
secure his nomination will not dim the lustre 
of his fame nor change his relations to the 
party and his time. lie remains to-day, as 
he has been for many years, the foremost 
man in the republic; the popular idol and 
the spontaneous choice of four-fifths of the 
Republican voters for President. He has 
failed to reach the place simply because, 
while he was filled with, and has not denied, 
the honorable aspiration which is the birth¬ 
right of every American, and has been the 
first free choice of his party, he has had no 
trained bands of mercenaries to fight on his 
behalf, no great captains to compel unwilling 
hosts to hoist his name; because, while the 
victory of the people has been great and far- 
reaching, Mr. Blaine has been compelled this 
year to play the part of Samson, and to 
destroy his own chances of personal success 
with the destruction of the conspiracy which 
had been formed against the republic and its 
sacred traditions.” 

Mr. Blaine is a lawyer of considerable 
eminence. 

A fast friend of President Garfield, one 
of the first acts of the latter was to offer to 
Mr. Blaine the portfolio of minister of state, 
and time has shown how fortunate he was 
in the selection of so able an adviser and so 
sincere and amiable a friend. 

Mr. Blaine’s chances to the Presidency 
have not diminished. They have increased, 
if anything; and the great bulk of the nation 
look forward with growing certainty to the 
realization of their fondest hopes at a not 
far distant future. 


HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

BY LYDIA M. MILLARD. 

In all the world there is no poet more 
widely known, more tenderly revered, than 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. In count¬ 
less far-away homes, over the mantel, where 
the wild rose and violet crown the borders ; 
of grandmother’s blue pitcher, Longfellow’s ' 
tender, thoughtful face looks down from its 
acorn frame on the children’s play and the 
matron’s toil. Many a boy is making his 
young “life more sublime,” as ho repeats 
to his proud mother, some sunny Saturday 
afternoon, the tuneful “Psalm of Life.” From 
wayside, and seaside, and fireside, sound 
back from thousands of silvery boy-voices, 
“Life is real—life is earnest.” Over moun¬ 
tain and valley echoes cheerily from the 
poet’s heart and tongue, to all earth’s “ toil¬ 


ing, rejoicing, sorrowing,”—“ Learn to labor 
and to wait”—words we cannot forget, that 
follow us all, like helping angels, through 
life’s weariest, darkest day. I have passed 
down the village street, and heard the 
maiden singing,— 


“ And from its station in the hall, 
An ancient time-piece says to all: 
Forever—never ! 

Never—forever !” 


Across the way, through the open win¬ 
dow, comes back like sweetest balm and 
solemn benediction,— 


“ And Death and Time shall disappear 
Forever there, but never here.” 


And in a lonely, cheerless attic near, a sad¬ 
eyed maiden sings over to herself, while the 
tears are falling,— 

“ Be still, sad heart, and cease repining, 

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining.” 


Over many a fair girl’s melodeon or organ 
Longfellow’s face is framed in ferns, in au- 
tumn leaves, in lichens, or everlastings, while 
in more princely mansions his deep, un¬ 
clouded eyes beam benignantly down from 
the frescoed lilies above on the velvet roses 
beneath. Wherever the sun shines and 
flowers grow, his face is on the wall, his songs 
are in the heart. Near Longfellow’s own 
beautiful home in Cambridge I have heard 
the village blacksmith speak with eyes as 
glowing as his forge of the work and beauty 
of the words, of our Longfellow. He was 
once one of the children coming home from 
school who “looked in at the open door to 
see the flaming forge, and to hear the bellows 
roar.” He knew by heart the poet’s “Vil¬ 
lage Blacksmith,” and Longfellow, in those 
tuneful, tearful, cheerful lines, had forever 
for him ennobled his honest toil. Here, in 
a blacksmith’s shop, was the face of Long¬ 
fellow framed, not in oak-leaves or acorns, 
but in fadeless everlastings in the black¬ 
smith’s glowing heart. 

I heard “ the measured beat and slow of 
his heavy sledge,” as I walked beside the 
“silently winding river” Charles,—but I 
turned away at last from his sounding forge 
to enter the illustrious home of the bard 
who had shaped on “life’s sounding anvil” 
so many glowing, glorious thoughts. The 
grand old house is “ set back from the road, 
behind a lilac hedge,” opening every spring 
its purple and white blossoms. Here and 
there, gleaming out from the shining lilac- 
leaves, I could see the red glow of the dying > 
woodbine. Fluttering in the air or rustling 
under my feet were the changing autumn 

o o 

leaves, and here and there a golden dande¬ 
lion gleamed forth its starry welcome from 
the green lawn; and here and there, nestling 
in clusters round, were its graceful little 
cousins, those purple wild-flowers, that seem 


ever to hover near the dandelion’s gold. An 
army of associations grand and beautiful, 
like some celestial cohort, seemed guiding 
and guarding me on through the open gate 
to the old house standing in serene seclusion, 
over whose silent portals, for more than a 
hundred years of calms and storms, the 
stately elms had kept their benignant biv¬ 
ouac. Under their interlacing arms the past 
and present “sit together hand in hand, 
listening to the voices of the night, while 
the footsteps of loving angels seem ever 
hovering near.” As I looked out from the 
portico of this grand old house, I wished 
that every poet were fortunate enough to 
have a green meadow all his own to look 
out upon, with a bright winding river, deep 
and pure, gliding ever on and on beyond. I 
would love to have lingered for hours on 
those broad verandas, and looked off’ 
thi'ough the old elms’ interlacing boughs 
at the silvery winding Charles and the 
beauty-bathed “ blue hills of Milton” be¬ 
yond. Longfellow’s home, without and 
within, is an ideal home. I broke the deep, 
sweet silence reigning around, and lifted the 
old brass knocker on the door. Only a hun¬ 
dred and six Julys ago, when Charlestown 
lay in ashes and the British banner waved 
on Bunker’s western hill, Washington’s 
majestic form rode through this beautiful 
avenue amid the shouts of the soldiers and 
the thunders of artillery. Leaving behind 
him honors and cheers, congratulations 
and acclamations, he entered the door of 
this old mansion, to be his headquarters and 
home for nearly a year, retiring with a bur¬ 


dened heart to this room in the southeast 
corner at the rip’ht hand of the front door as 

O 

you enter. It was his study, and it is now 
Longfellow’s study. It is pleasant to have 
Longfellow’s picture in one’s home and to 
read his cheering, tuneful verse, but better 
to look upon his living face and take his 
friendly hand. His blue eyes beaming out 
from those broad “ overhanging brows, so 
attract you that you hardly notice what the 
outlines of his other features are, and his 
well-made form, his elastic step, and grace¬ 
ful manners, have none of the weakness ol 
age. I said to him, “You look younger than 
when I saw you last, nearly three years ago. 


am not going to grow old, I am going 
grow young now,” he said, with hit- 
rtly grace and rare smile. I have nevei 
i any one with whom to compare him. 
manner is a union of elegance and sim 
ity, dignity and kindliness. He walked 
h me through his beautiful rooms, show 
me the pictures and treasures ho liked 
t. 1 sat a while in Lady Washington’s 
wing-room, just across from the study 
3 chairs and sofas and cushions wok 
ered with a beautiful white Mtin, 

lathed into lovely vines and flow iis. 

Bod ot flowers, 


nn vnnt 













3 


t c Jb. L cuyy^i 








PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


47 


and the lai’ge mirror opened before me 
another bed of flowers. 

But more than the £t etagere laden with 
treasures,” the blooming carpet and the bud¬ 
ding sofas, the rare old china in the dining¬ 
room, the family portraits, the spacious and 
elegant library, with its three sides lined 
with books; more than all these, Longfel¬ 
low’s study interested me. Here he spends 
most of his time. Here most of his poems 
have been written. Here are many re¬ 
minders of earth’s great and gifted souls. 
“On the table is Coleridge’s inkstand, Tom 
Moore’s waste-paper basket, and a fragment 
of Dante’s coffin.” There hang on the wall 
fine crayon likenesses of his three friends, 
Emerson, Sumner, and Hawthorn, taken in 
the flush of youth. He has also a letter from 
the great Swedish bard, Bishop Tegner. 
But I prized more than these treasures the 
three little orange-leaves Mr. Longfellow 
gave me from the orange-tree by the win¬ 
dow. One of them I have since sent to 
Oscar Frcdrik, king of Sweden. The leaf 
was carefully fastened to white paper with 
a thread of George Washington’s hair. King 
Oscar himself is a poet, and a great admirer 
of Longfellow, and of Washington, too, and 
I have received his cordial thanks for the 
leaf and the silver thread entwining it. 

More than all other poets, I have learned 
Longfellow’s verses easiest and remembered 
them longest. They are the only poems I 
can repeat, many of them, from beginning to 
end. When I said this to Mr. Longfellow, 
he said I could do more than he could. They 
were read to me long years ago by a “ being 
beauteous, who is now a saint in heaven.” 
Her memory is linked with every verse, and 
to hear the poet read aloud my own verses 
was a very great pleasure. Could I live to be 
a century old, for the cheering words he said 
to me, I shall be happier every day of my 
life. 

Let us end this year, and begin another, 
by saying the kindest words we can to those 
whose hearts or hopes any smile or word of 
ours can lighten. 

Wherever a human heart beats, Longfel¬ 
low’s soul, still singing on, sends its consola¬ 
tion and benediction. “ Time has taken only 
the gold of his hair;” but the jewels of his 
thought glow brightly as ever. Longfellow 
has never struggled or written in a garret. 
The <>-ates have been open free to him to all 
the world’s garden of beauty. His sorrow- 
showers have been heaven-sent, and ha\ e 
only made the flowers of resignation bloom 
brighter in his soul. 

As I bade him good-by, “ Come again; 
and come in the morning,” he said; I shall 
have leisure to talk with you more then. 
One morning I went again, and the houis 
to me flew by on golden wings. I sat ncail) 
an hour one day in the poet’s garden, on the 
gray seat, close to the little gray round table, 


under the evergreen tree, where I watched 
the butterflies hovering round the moss 
pinks and pansies, the portulacas and pe¬ 
tunias, the golden crocuses, the larkspurs 
and the lilies, and the pink phlox that seemed 
blooming so happily in the gracefully-curved 
beds bordered with gi'een box in the peaceful 
garden, with the tall locust-trees beyond, 
shutting it in like a happy “ little wilderness” 
by itself. 

Like another, who had been there before, 
me, “ I almost wished that my soul might 
pass into the flower growing beside me or 
the bird singing; overhead. I envied the little 
golden lady-bugs that sunned their magnifi¬ 
cence in the poet’s garden.” 

In the centre of the garden, in a bed by 
itself, grew one “dusty miller,” all alone, bor¬ 
dered around with the green box. There 
was one bed full of lilies of the valley, and, 
near it, one where a family of blue violets 
were growing. The flowers had made their 
spring visit and departed, but in all the green 
garden of the poet’s soul the blue violets of 
peace and the lilies of the valley of resig¬ 
nation never close their dewy eyes. 


TO LONGFELLOW ON HIS BIRTHDAY, FEB. 27. 

BY LYDIA M. MILLARD. 

Though on thy head Time’s silver snows 
Our loving eyes may see, 

Around thy brow the laurel grows, 

Still greener grows, for thee, 

While at thy feet a countless host 
Of noblest souls to-day 
Will wreathe with memory’s fairest pearls 
Thy fame’s unfading bay. 

Around thy heart may sunbeams shed 
Their warmest glow to-day, 

And every breeze that fans thy head 
Some kindly greeting say ; 

Each opening bud its perfume breathe 
Upon thy happy way; 

Each star that shines this wintry eve 
Send thee a cheering ray. 

“ The footsteps of the angels” blest 
That travel through thy soul, 

Shall echo o’er earth’s wailing breast,^ 

And all its griefs condole. 

And so forever sings thy song, 

Through all the seas and skies, 

As long as blue-eyed flowers are born, 

Or evening stars arise. 

While through the blue aboon shall roll 
The beaming orb of night, 

From the cool cisterns of thy soul 
All earth shall drink delight. 

An army vast, a mighty throng, 

Thy “ Psalm of Life” shall call 
Round duty’s cross to rally strong, 

And scale her steepest wall. 


Italia, Spain, and France shall hear 
Thy ‘‘'Voices of the Night;” 

O’er Scandinavia’s hills so dear, 

Thy star of strength gleam bright. 
Like bird and flower, like star and sun, 
Thy words beyond compare, 

Have scattered balm and bloom unknown 
Adown earth’s sea of care. 

Com# back to thee, in blessing sweet, 

In balm and bloom unknown, 

Like opening flowers around thy’ feet, 

The beauty thou hast sown. 

Be every day within thy soul 
New morning-glories born, 

And grace, and peace, and mercy make 
Thine evening fair as dawn. 

Till in that higher, brighter blue, 

Thy tuneful, deathless lyre, 

Some happy soul may thrill anew 
With its ennobling fire ; 

And evermore, till latest time, 

Shall earth’s battalions long 
March to the music of thy rhyme, 

And “suffer and be strong.” 


OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

No name is more widely known in the 
literary world than that of Oliver Wendell 
Holmes, physician and poet. Son of Dr. 
Abel Holmes, he was born at Cambridge, 
Massachusetts, on the 29th of August, 1809, 
and graduated at Harvard in 1829. He 
commenced the study of the law, but aban¬ 
doned it in favor of medicine, receiving his 
doctor’s degree in 1836, after three years’ 
attendance in the European hospitals. The 
greater portion of the time was spent in 
Paris, where he acquired an intimate knowl¬ 
edge of the French language, and formed 
numerous friendships among leading physi¬ 
cians and men of letters. He was appointed 
professor of anatomy and physiology at 
Dartmouth in 1838, and at the Massachu¬ 
setts Medical College, Boston, in 1847. Dr. 
Holmes is a celebrated anatomist, microscop- 
ist, and auscultator; but it is principally as 
a poet, wit, and man of letters that he has 
acquired the widest fame. The first collec¬ 
tion of his poems was published in 1S36, and 
since then he has enriched our literature 
with the most exquisite varieties of poetical 
and prose compositions. His “ Phi Beta 
Kappa” poems were first read before the 
society of that name, of which he was a 
distinguished member, in the autumn of 
1836. Then followed “Terpsichore,” “Ura¬ 
nia Astnva,” and the mingled prose and 
poetry compositions published under the 
title of “The Autocrat of the Breakfast- 
table,” “Professor at the Breakfast-table,” 
and “Poet at the Breakfast-table,”—all of 
these gems of thought, humor, and senti¬ 
ment embodied in the brightest and purest 











48 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


forms of language. He Las produced many 
other entertaining works, and even now, at 
an age when many would think of resting 
on their oars, his pen continues to afford 
fresh pleasure to the millions who delight in 
his writings. Among his principal medical 
literary productions are the “ Boylston Prize 
Essays,” lectures on “Popular Delusions,” 
and his “Theory and Practice,” the latter 
being the joint creation of I)r. Holmes and 
Dr. Bigelow. The musical versification of 
Holmes’s poetry may be compared to that of 
the melodious Lamartine, while his writings 
are equally remarkable for their grace, ele¬ 
gance, and finish. 


JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 

The following notice of our poet, of whom 
we present a portrait to our readers, is taken 
from Griswold’s “ Poets of America.” 

James Russell Lowell was born in Boston 
in 1819. He finished his education at Har¬ 
vard College when quite young, and subse¬ 
quently studied law. His first appearance 
as an author was in 1839, when he printed 
a class poem, recited at Cambridge. Two 
years afterwards he published a volume of 
miscellaneous poems, called “A Year’s Life.” 
This book had Hashes of genius which elicited 
warm praises. About the year 1844 was 
published “ The Bigelow Papers,” a collection 
of verses in the Hew England dialect, with 
an introduction and notes in the character 
of a pedantic but sharp-witted country par¬ 
son. The book is a satire upon the defences 
of our war with Mexico, and it exhibits in 
various forms of homely humor the indig¬ 
nation with which the contest was regarded 
by the best sort of people in the Eastern 
States. Soon after was published his “ Vision 
of Sir Launfal,” a poem founded upon the 
legend of the search for the Holy Grail (the 
cup out of which our Lord drank with His 
disciples at the Last Supper). In the winter 
of 1854 he delivered a course of lectures be¬ 
fore the Lowell Institute in Boston, on the 
British Poets, which greatly increased his 
reputation ; and on the retirement of Mr. 
Longfellow from the professorship of modern 
languages in Harvard College, the following 
spring, was chosen to the vacant chair, and 
soon after sailed for Europe to spend one 
or two years in preparation for his duties. 
The growth of his fame was steady and 
rapid from the commencement of his literary 
career, and no one of our younger authors 
has achieved a greater eminence. 


N. P. WILLIS. 

Nathaniel P. Willis was born at Port¬ 
land, Maine, in 1807. During his childhood 
his parents removed to Boston, and at the 
Latin School in that city, and at the Philips 


Academy, in Andover, he pursued his studies 
until he entered Yale College in 1823. 
While he was a student he won a high reputa¬ 
tion, for so young an author, by a series of 
! “ Scripture Sketches,” and a few other poems. 
He graduated in 1827, and in the following 
year he published a “Poem delivered before 
the Society of United Brothers of Brown 
University,” which, as well as his “Sketches,” 
issued soon after he left college, was very 
favorably noticed in the best periodicals of 
the times. He also edited The Token, a well- 
known annuary for 1828, and established 
The American Monthly Magazine, but in 1830 
it was united to the New York Mirror, of 
which Mr. Willis became one of the conduc¬ 
tors. lie travelled for several years over the 
most interesting portions of Europe, and his 
I “ First Impressions” were given in his letters 
to the Mirror , in which he described with 
remarkable fidelity, and in an elegant, grace¬ 
ful style, scenery and incidents of bis travels. 
His letters were collected and republished in 
London, under the title of “Pencillings by 
tbe Way.” In 1835 was published his “Ink¬ 
lings of Adventure,” a collection of tales and 
sketches originally written for a London 
magazine, under the signature of “Philip 
Slingsly.” He returned to the United States 
in 1837, and retired to his beautiful estate 
on tbe Susquehanna, named “ Glenmary” in 
compliment to his wife. 

Although Mr. Willis is one of the most 
popular of our poets, the fame acquired in 
other works places him among “ The Prose 
Writers of America.” His wit, elegant tastes, 
and kindly temper rendered him a writer 
of extraordinary skill.— Griswold's “ Foets of 
America." 


RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson was born in Bos¬ 
ton about the year 1803, and after taking 
his degree of Bachelor of Arts at Harvard 
I College in 1821 studied theology, and in 
I 1829 was ordained as the colleague of the 
late Rev. Henry Ware, Jr., over the Second 
Unitarian Church of his native city, but 
subsequently abandoned the pulpit, living in 
retirement at Concord, devoting his time to 
; literature and philosophy. He has been a 
contributor to The North American Review 
and The Christian Examiner, and was two 
years editor of The Dial, established in Bos¬ 
ton in 1850. lie published, in 1846, a col¬ 
lection of his “Poems,” in 1851 “Represen¬ 
tative Men.” His genius is poetical, his 
j sympathy with nature is evinced in every¬ 
thing ho has written; beauty in external 
objects, whether it he grandeur, sublimity, 
splendor, or simple grace, is not with him 
an illustration merely, it is an instructing 
presence, to bo questioned and heard as one 
of the forms or manifestations of divinity. 


What to others might be an unmeaning 
fable has been to him a truth; he has found 

“ Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything;” 

and this he says for himself in a little poem 
called 

THE APOLOGY. 

“Think me not unkind and rude 

That I walk alone in grove and glen ; 

I go to the God of the wood 
To fetch His word to men. 

“Tax not my sloth that I 

Fold my arms beside the brook, 

Each cloud that floated in the sky 
Writes a letter in my book. 

“Chide me not, laborious band, 

For the idle flowers I brought; 

Every aster in my hand 

Goes home loaded with a thought. 

“There was never mystery 

But ’tis figured in the flowers; 

Was never secret history 

But birds tell it in the bowers. 

“ One harvest from thy field 

Homeward brought the oxen strong; 

A second crop thy acres yield 
Which I gather in a song.” 

— Griswold’s “Poets and Poetry of America." 


WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 

William Cullen Bryant was born at 
Cummington, Hampshire County, Mass., on 
the 3d November, 1794. At ten years of age- 
he began to write poetry, at fourteen years 
he published “The Embargo” and “The 
Spanish Revolution,” both, poems of con¬ 
siderable length and great merit; and at 
nineteen wrote “ Thanatopsis,” one of tbe 
most celebrated compositions in blank verse 
in the English language. In 1810 he entered 
Williams College, Massachusetts, as a stu¬ 
dent, but after remaining two years left and 
engaged in the study of law. In 1815 he 
was admitted to practice in Plainfield. His 
first volume was published in 1821. In 1825 
he moved to New York, and was engaged as 
the editor of the New York Review, which 
was soon merged into the United States Re¬ 
view ; and in 1826 connected himself with the 
New York Evening Post, then under the edi¬ 
torial control of Mr. William Coleman. In a 
few years, however, he acquired exclusive 
control of the Evening Post, and continued as 
its chief editor almost up to the time ot his 
death. Mr. Bryant has been very justly 
termed “ the Nestor of the American Press 
—in both prose and poetry occupying tho 
front rank in his profession, and, in tbelatter, 
holding as intimate communion with nature 
as did Wordsworth. 11c died universally in¬ 
spected and beloved. 














PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


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50 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL 


JOHN G. WHITTIER. 


John G. Whittier was born in Massa¬ 
chusetts in 1808, on a place inhabited by bis 
ancestors for five generations. His early 
years were passed in the district schools, 
and in helping his father on the farm. His 
nineteenth year was spent in a Latin school, 
and in 1828 he went to Boston to conduct 
The American Manufacturer, a gazette estab¬ 
lished to advocate a protective tariff. He 
had already won some reputation as a writer 
by his contributions in prose and verse to 
the newspapers of his native town, and the 
ability with which he managed the Manu¬ 
facturer, made his name familiar throughout 
the country. In 1830 he went to Hartford 
to take charge of the New England Review. 
He published about this time his “Legends 
of New England,” a collection of poems and 
prose sketches, founded on events in the 
early history of the country. He represented 
his native town, Haverhill, in the Legisla¬ 
ture in its sessions of 1835 and 1836, and 
declined a re-election in 1837. His longest 
poem, “ Mogg Megone,” was first published 
in 1836. His hatred of every species of op¬ 
pression was a marked characteristic, and at 
aiT early period he was interested in the 
abolition question. In 1836 he was elected 
one of the secretaries of the American Anti- 
Slavery Society, and was one of the most 
prominent advocates of immediate emanci¬ 
pation. Mr. Whittier published a volume 
of “ Ballads” in 1838; “ Lays of My Home 
and other Poems,” in 1815; “ Songs of 
Labor,” in 1851; and “ The Chapel of the 
Hermits and other Poems,” in 1852. His 
prose works are “ The Stranger in Low¬ 
ell,” “Supernaturalism in New England,” 
“Leaves from Margaret Smith’s Journal,” 
“ Old Portraits and Modern Sketches,” and 
“Literary Eecreations and Miscellanies.” 
His works are distinguished for boldness, 
energy, tenderness, and grace. He is of that 
class of authors we most need to build up 
a literature that shall elevate the national 
character.— Griswold's “ Poets of America:' 


GENERAL WINFIELD SCOTT HANCOCK. 

General Hancock was born in Mont¬ 
gomery County, Pennsylvania, on the 14th 
of February, 1824. His early education was 
received at the Morristown Academy, and, 
in 1840, ho was appointed a cadet at the 
United States Military Academy, where he 
graduated. Evincing a decided inclination 
for the profession of arms (his father had 
been a soldier in the war of 1812), he passed 
his military examination with great credit, 
and was appointed to the army in 1844 
as brevet second lieutenant of infantry, re¬ 
ceiving his full commission as second lieu¬ 
tenant in 1846. Rising rapidly through the 


moled to tne ranic ui — '<■- 

master’s Department, in 1863. For over two 
years after his appointment to the army he 
served on frontier duty. He fought in the 
war with Mexico (1847-48), and was present 
at San Antonio, Churubusco, Molino del Rey, 
and at the assault and capture of the City 
of Mexico. On that occasion he displayed 
conspicuous gallantry, and was honorably 
mentioned in dispatches. He also served in 
Florida during the Seminole hostilities, in 
Kansas during the disturbances of 1857, and 
in California, at Los Angeles, where he was 
stationed as quartermaster ot the Southern 
District when the civil war broke out in 
1861. As soon as the news of the impend¬ 
ing struggle reached him, he proceeded to 
Washington, applied for active service, and 
was assigned to Kentucky as chief quarter¬ 
master under General Anderson’s command, 
lie had previously been appointed a briga¬ 
dier-general of volunteers. His histoiy dur¬ 
ing the war is intimately connected with that 
of the Army of the Potomac. In the fall 
and winter of 1861-62, he was in command 
of a brigade at Lewinsville, Virginia. In 
March, 1862, he went with General McClel¬ 
lan’s army to the Peninsula, and was actively 
engaged at the siege of Yorktown, and in 
the battle of Williamsburg, where he led the 
brilliant charge which resulted in victory 
and the capture of Fort Magruder. lie also 
distinguished himself and rendered invalua¬ 
ble services at the battles of Golding’s Farm, 
Garnett’s Hill, Savage’s Station, and White 
Oak Swamp. He was shortly after this pro¬ 
moted to the rank of lieutenant-colonel and 
colonel, and was strongly recommended by 
General McClellan for the post of major- 
general. Created a major-general of volun¬ 
teers in November, 1862. He led in com¬ 
mand of the First Division, Second Corps, 
at Fredericksburg, December, 1862, and to 
the assault on Marye’s Heights, and at Chan- 
cellorsville, in May, 1863. 

It was at Gettysburg that his courage and 
soldierlike qualities were brought into full 
play. Having been sent by General Meade 
to assume the command of Gettysburg, after 
the death of Reynolds, he reached the field 
just in time to rally the beaten Union army 
as it was retreating through Gettysburg, 
lie inspired them with confidence, inflamed 
their drooping spirits and, by a series of able 
manoeuvres, succeeded in checking the fur¬ 
ther advance of the enemy. From the report 
v hich he sent to General Meade, as to the 
advantages of the position at Gettysburg, it 
was determined that the general should fight 
his battle there; and on the 2d and 3d of 
Ju!y, following, Hancock, commanding the 
left centre, repulsed the final assault of Lee’s 
army, and fell severely wounded almost at 
the moment of victory. He received the 
special thanks of Congress for his gallant 


JOURNAL 


services at Gettysburg. His wounds disabl 
him from active service for a while; butt 

returned to the command of his c 0 
December, 1863, when he was charged t 
proceed to the North to aid in the recruiting 
of volunteers, the army being then in winter 
quarters. His popularity contributed greatly 
to the success of the mission, and L . 
enthusiastically received by the inhabitants of 
all the cities which he visited for the purpose 
He again rendered invaluable service in the 
campaign of 1864, though still suffering f rom 
the effects of his wound. He commanded 
fifty thousand men at the battle of the 
Wilderness; fought at the battle of the P 0 
and in the assault near Spottsylvania Court- 
House. On June 17, 1864, he was compelled 
to relinquish his command in consequence of 
the breaking out of his Gettysburg wound. 
Returning to duty, however, after an absence 
of a few days, he was made a brigadier-gen¬ 
eral, and continued to serve with the greatest 
energy, talent, and gallantry, until the end 
of the war. He was promoted to the rank 
of major-general in the regular army in 1866; 
and while in command of the Department 
of the Missouri was appointed to conduct an 
expedition against hostile Indians on the 
plains. 

A contemporary, describing his personal 
characteristics, says, “ He appears the very 
beau ideal of the soldier. His figure is tall 
and finely shaped. His eye is clear, blue, 
inquiring; benignant in repose,but aspiring 
in danger and in earnestness. To his subor¬ 
dinates he is kindliness itself. Heputsoneat 
ease at once, and gives confidence. This was 
one of the great secrets of Hancock’s success 
on the field. Men and officers all felt that 
they had come in personal contact with their 
commander; that they had made him think 
they were brave, good, reliable men; and, 
when the crisis came, they would rather die 
than destroy that opinion. Hancock’s re¬ 
proof, on the other hand, was not a thing to 
be wished for twice.” 

As far back as 1868 and 1872, he was 
mentioned as an eligible candidate for the 
Presidency, and in 1872 was tendered, and 
declined, the Democratic nomination ioi Go\ 
ernor of Pennsylvania. In 1880, hovvevei, 
he was put forward as the Democratic noni 
inee for President, but was defeated h\ a 
small majority and after a severe stiugg e i 
which, at one time, raised serious app ie eI 
to its results in the ranks of his 


sions as 
versaries. 


General Hancock married in 1850, ^ 

he was a simple lieutenant out Wst, 
Russell, the daughter of a well-to-do nit- 
chant in St. Louis, equally remaika ® 
her beauty as for the charms of hei ma ^ 
Their domestic life has been a gjg. 

and time has done little, beyond t ic 
tion of a few silvery threads, to nnj 
personal graces of Mrs. Hancock. 



























PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


51 


[From Deihm’s Safe Journal, April 15.] 

THE PUBLIC GOOD, 

The surest road to political greatness, 
nowadays, is a sincere and manifest desire 
to serve the people. There has been so much 
knavery predominant of late years that even 
the most good-natured or weak-minded citi¬ 
zens are ready to do something for reform. 
When patriots were plenty no one paid 
much attention to any of them. Now that 
they are scarce, the whole nation becomes 
enthusiastic in their praise when they are 
discovered. This will account for the in. 
tense satisfaction and delight exhibited by 
persons of all political parties over the efforts 
of General Garfield’s administration. The 
President’s course has been a pleasant sur¬ 
prise from the start. The stanch firmness 
of his character was scarcely appreciated 
before, even by his most intimate friends. 
The wisdom he displayed in the selection of 
a Cabinet is becoming more apparent every 
day, and Democrats as well as Republicans 
rejoice that the people, as a body, as a na¬ 
tion, have an earnest friend in the Presiden¬ 
tial chair, one who devotes his entire energies 
to the public good. It matters not whether 
an office-holder is a Democrat or Republican, 
so far as mere party lines are concerned. If 
he exercises any sterling qualities for the 
public good, the people, especially in these 
times, are quick to notice the fact and prompt 
to reward. There are indications that Gen¬ 
eral Garfield’s career will be one of the most 
brilliant in our national history. He has 
already aimed a powerful blow at the doc¬ 
trine that to the victors belong the spoils, 
and caused considerable jumping around 
among the leeches who have hitherto always 
had something for nothing. It is evident 
that he laid out this programme of purifica¬ 
tion before he took the oath of office. Ilis 
selection of our greatest statesman, Blaine, 
for the office of Secretary of State, is the 
first proof we have of this. In Mr. Blaine 
we have one who is utterly opposed to cor¬ 
ruption in politics. The other members of 
the Cabinet are of the same stripe, and they 
all are proving themselves to be gentlemen 
of such decided ability as to make illustrious 
places for themselves in history. Their re¬ 
fusal to degrade themselves by chicanery or 
partisan follies has endeared them already 
to the hearts of the people. Postmaster 
James comes to the front nobly. New York 
was sorry to lose so good a postmaster, but 
the manner in which he has dealt with the 
spoilers who have been robbing the govern¬ 
ment for years, makes us not only willing to 
spare him, but to name him, next to Mi*. 
Blaine, as our choice for President in 1885. 
The people will not forget him. And Secre¬ 
tary Lincoln. What shall be said of him? 
The old proverb, “An apple never falls far 
from the tree,” is being illustrated afresh in 


his case. lie proves himself to be as manly 
and as honest as was his father, which is the 
greatest compliment that can he paid him. 
The army officers who have been idling 
around Washington, drawing pay and giving 
no equivalent, have had to change their base 
quickly. Some three hundred of them have 
already been marched away to their regi¬ 
ments. In all other respects Mr. Lincoln is 
introducing reform and progress. Secreta¬ 
ries MaeVeagh and Windom have exceeded 
the expectations of their friends, and disap¬ 
pointed the predictions of their enemies. 
“The public good” is their motto. 

Of General Arthur, with whom we have 
the honor of a personal acquaintance, we 
can have but one opinion. He will do what¬ 
ever is right. His large-hearted, noble, 
manly nature would naturally make him 
shrink from any mean action, and the pride 
he has in his native State will prevent his 
using his powerful influence, his veto vote, 
for any measure that would damage New 
York. 

The office of Vice-President is one that 
does not always command the attention of 
the country, but in this instance it is graced 
by so much dignity and patriotism as to 
make the position illustrious. Of all the 
Vice-Presidents this country has had no one 
can compare with General Arthur in per¬ 
sonal character, so far as courage, generosity, 
and force are concerned. His commanding 
appearance alone forbids his doing any action 
that is not patriotic, but makes a noble course 
fit him naturally, lie is earnestly a friend 
of the people. 

General Garfield’s administration has had 
considerable opposition not only from the 
spoilers but from prominent Republicans who 
think more of politics than of statesman¬ 
ship, more of party than of public. These 
gentlemen should understand that in oppos¬ 
ing the President they are opposing the peo¬ 
ple. The President’s every act has shown 
that he is for the public good. The people 
will sustain him, and in every fight the peo¬ 
ple are sure to win in the long run. 


THE PUBLISHING HOUSE OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT 
& CO., OF PHILADELPHIA. 

One of the largest book-houses in the 
United States, and, possibly, in the world, 
is that of Messrs. J. B. Lippincott & Co., of 
715 and 717 Market Street, Philadelphia. 
It is also one of the oldest in America, its 
origin dating as far back as the end of the 
last century, when it was founded by Mr. 
Benjamin Johnson. 

Like mostly all great achievements, it rose 
from small beginnings, working its way by 
steadiness, surely and slowly, under various 
changes of name. 


Passing successively through the hands of 
Mr. Benjamin Warner and Mr. John Grigg, 
it became known, in 1825, under the st}de of 
Grigg & Elliott, as one of the most impor¬ 
tant and successful publishing houses of its 
day in Philadelphia. 

When the reputation of Grigg k Elliott 
was at its height, Mr. J. B. Lippincott, the 
J senior member of the firm under notice, was 
a young man of nineteen or twenty. He 
saw that, in a city like Philadelphia, there 
I was room for another successful publishing 
house, and determined to set up on his own 
account. In 1836 appeared the initial vol¬ 
umes of the infant firm of J. B. Lippincott 
k Co., which grew so rapidly that in 1850 
Mr. Lippincott felt justified in embarking 
his capital in the purchase of the rival firm 
of Grigg & Elliott, and the interests of the 
two houses were merged into one. 

The old premises in Fourth Street becom¬ 
ing too small for the demands of their fast 
expanding trade, Mr. Lippincott erected, in 
1861, the marble structure now occupied by 
| the firm in Market Street, which, with the 
j adjoining buildings, contains a total floor 
| surface of nearly five acres. 

A glance at the last catalogue of the pub¬ 
lications of J. B. Lippincott k Co., reveals 
I the vast strides which have been made by 
the house since its modest beginning. A 
mere mention of the various departments 
under which the books are classified shows 
how immense is the literary territory cov¬ 
ered. These are Miscellaneous, History and 
Biography, Religious, Fiction, Poetry, Gift- 
Books, Juvenile, Medical, Scientific, Law, 
Dictionaries and Works of Reference, Edu¬ 
cational, and Bibles and Prayer-Books. 
Each department is adequately represented. 
Under the heading of Miscellaneous are the 
complete works of such standard authors 
as Addison, Carlyle, Goethe, Irving, Junius, 
Lamb, Landor, Schiller, Sheridan, Sterne, 
and Swift, the philosophical speculations of 
Berkeley and Fichte, the favorite writings 
of Heine and Lamartine, the series of “ An¬ 
cient” and “ Foreign Classics for English 
Readers,” etc. History and Biography arc 
represented by such writers as Prescott, 
Hume, Macaulay, Gibbon, Agnes Strick¬ 
land, Ranke, Charles Knight, John Forster, 
and others. The Departments of Religion, 
Fiction, and Poetry are equally full and valu¬ 
able. Conspicuous in the former are Jamei- 
son and Faucett’s “ Commentary on the Old 
and New Testaments”—one of the greatest 
works of the kind ever put forth—and Kitto’s 
Comprehensive “ Biblical Cyclopa'dia.” Un¬ 
der Fiction are included the complete works 
of such masters of the art as Scott, Thack¬ 
eray, Dickens, Bulwor, Bronte, etc., and of 
such newer favorites as Ouida, Marlitt, the 
Duchess, Mrs. Forrester, etc. The popular 
Aldine edition of the English poets includes 
the standard English authors, and recent 








PRESIDENT JAMES 


A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 


American poetry is represented by Boker, 
Buchanan Read, and Sidney Lanier. fhe 
great Variorum edition of Shakespeare, and 
other handsome presentation volumes are 
grouped under the Gift-books. The juveniles 
muster all the old favorites with many mod¬ 
ern additions, and the Scientific, Medical, and 
Legal Departments yield respectively such 
authoritative names as Proctor, Leidy, Ag- 
nevv, Chapman, DaCosta, Hammond, Mit¬ 
chell, Sharswood, Bouvier, Parsons, and Hil¬ 


liard. The Department of Dictionaries and 
Works of Reference contains some of the 
most splendid and enduring monuments to 
the enterprise of the firm. “ Allibone’s Dic¬ 
tionary of Authors,” the same editor’s “ Poet¬ 
ical and Prose Quotations,” “ Lippincott’s 
Dictionary of Biography and Mythology,” 
“ Lippincott’s Pronouncing Gazetteer of the 
World,” “ Worcester’s Dictionary of the 
English Language”—these are publications 
of which any house might be proud. 

But the Lippincotts are not simply pub¬ 
lishers ; they carry on in connection with 
their publishing business perhaps the larg¬ 
est and most widely reaching jobbing trade 
in the country. 

As I entered the mammoth bookstore, 
which extends 365 feet from Market Street, 
and modestly requested to be served with a 
sixty-cent edition of one of the Duchess’s 
last sparks of fancy, strange feelings pos¬ 
sessed me as I viewed the gigantic col¬ 
lection of literature that was strewn upon 
the tables, shelves, and counters around. 
Here lay ponderous lexicons and stately en¬ 
cyclopedias; there, richly-bound volumes of 
history and biography. On one side, a col¬ 
lection of dry scientific treatises, and on the 
other an inviting group of poets, novelists, 
and essayists. The tables are laid for all 
tastes, means, and conditions, and the cui¬ 
sine combines the efforts of all nationalities. 
There is as little difficulty in obtaining 
“ Old Mother Hubbard” and the “Nursery 
Rhymes” or “Robinson Crusoe,” as there is 
in securing a beautifully bound edition of 
the “ Life of Garfield,” or a volume of “ Long¬ 
fellow.” 

At the rear of this spacious apartment is 
the counting-room of the establishment. 
Here are the desks of the members of the 
firm, with those of the bookkeepers, etc.; 
and back of this is the shipping department, 
with the desks of the shipping clerks. Up¬ 
wards of twenty-five thousand cases of books 
arc shipped annually by the firm to the four 
corners of the globe. 

1 he front section of the basement is de¬ 
voted to the school-book work. In the sub¬ 
basement, which extends under the whole 
basement, are the engines and boilers which 
move all the machinery required in the differ¬ 


ent departments, work the elevators, and sup¬ 
ply heat to the buildings. The sub-basement 
also contains the fire-proof vaults, in which 


are secured stereotype plates representing a 
value of over half a million of dollars. 

The second, third, and fourth floors of the 
front building are used principally for the 
purposes of the large stationery trade which 
has been carried on by the firm since its 
establishment. The counters on the second 
floor occupy a space of sixty feet square, and 
are covered with an immense assortment of 
sample goods in the shape of albums, pocket- 
books, diaries, scrap-books, writing-materials, 
picture-frames, and blank books of all de¬ 
scriptions, while enormous quantities of these 
goods are stored away in all directions, 
against the walls and under the counters. 
The packing and shipping of stationery is 
carried on on the third floor. The editorial 
and business offices of the magazines occupy 
the back of the second floor; while those of 
the gazetteer, dictionaries, and other works 
of a similar nature, published by the firm, 
occupy the rear of the third floor. The 
fourth and fifth floors of this building are 
used for storage principally. 

The busy portion of the establishment is 
the manufactory on Filbert Street. Four 
hundred hands, men and women, are em¬ 
ployed here. The composing department 
takes up one part of the third floor of this 
building, and contains facilities for a very 
large number of compositors. The average 
number, however, employed on type-setting 
is about one hundred. The other portion of 
the floor is devoted to the manufacture of 
blank books. Their press-room is on the 
fourth floor, and there is no more complete 
and better-appointed printing-office in the 
world. It contains about thirty presses, 
among which are Adams presses, cylinder 
presses, and presses of other descriptions. 
Three enormous cylinder presses, with all the 
latest appliances, have recently been added to 
the stock; and all these arc kept constantly 
at work throughout the year. From the 
printing-office the sheets are conveyed to the 
sixth story, where they go through the pro¬ 
cess of drying and pressing, and are folded 
and stitched by machinery. This work is 
chiefly done by women. The sheets are next 
taken to the bindery on the fifth floor, where 
they are finished in every style of binding- 
imaginable before they are sent out upon 
their missions of usefulness and pleasure, of 
instruction and entertainment, and to pro¬ 
claim to the world the enterprising spirit 
°l the publishers, no less than the genius of 
their authors. 


GARFIELD AS A CANALER. 

“And so you want to know about Gar¬ 
field ! Well, I remember Jim very pleas¬ 
antly when he was driving for me on the Ohio 
Canal.” 

The speaker was a ruddy-faced, elderly 


JOURNAL. 


man, with white hair and silvery beard R 
sat tilted back in an old, much-whittledch • 
in a little, hot, fly-haunted office at So “J 
Montieello Avenue, Jersey City. On d" 
door was the name “Jonathan Myers.” 6 

“ I was on the Ohio Canal from 1838 to 
1849,” he continued, “as captain and owner 
of canal-boats. Let me see, it must bav 
been about 1844 or 1845 that I first fell 
with Jim. I happened to want a driver— 
that was the way of it. The canal-boah 
were then very large, and nicely fitted U p 
for passengers. We could carry twenty-five 
in my boat. Then there was a place open 
amidships for the emigrants, who used to 
travel altogether by the canal. The crew 
slept in the stern cabin, and consisted of five 
men. There were two drivers, two steers¬ 
men, and one bowsman, w r ho was on duty at 
every lock. 

“ I was very particular about the kind of 
men I engaged, for my wife often travelled 
with me, but I never had any fault to find 
with Jim. I remember him as a stout, 
plucky boy, large of his age; he couldn’t 
have been more than fourteen, and he was as 
honest as the day is long. I could always 
trust his word, and I put confidence in him. 
Many of the drivers would lie, and steal 
whenever they T got a chance, but Jim was 
always square with everybody. He was 
temperate, had no bad habits, always faith¬ 
ful, and seemed to take pride in doing his 
work well. He wasn’t what could be called 
a great talker, but he listened with all his 
might, and was all the time picking up bits 
of knowledge. He was inclined to be very 
studious, but there really wasn’t much chance 
on the boat. His work was hard and no 
mistake. You see we had four horses, and 


each driver took care of two, which made 
up his team. We called the horses engines, 
the drivers engineers, and the steersmen the 
pilots. Well, Jim would get on a horse and 
ride steadily for six hours. Usually in that 
time he’d only take a bite of something on 
horseback, or, perhaps, run on board the boat 
a minute if she was waiting for any thing. 
At the end of the six hours Jim was 
‘ spelled’ by the other driver. Ho then drove 
his horses on board, cleaned them dow n an 
fed them, and afterwards got somethin., to 
eat himself and took a nap. Ilis time o 
was six hours, then he drove tbi six ours, 
and so on. 1 paid him ten dollats a moi ^ 
and gave him his board. The ciew ate, 
well as slept, in the stern cabin, and * 
we had passengers Jim and the ot era 
to wait for the second table. 

“So be was really too haid-' u, i' 

study or play much. Evenings he ^ 

others would dive into the cana * ^ # 

along, holding on to the Btoin '!“®‘ bllt 

of the men used to play cards anm- ^ 

Jim never took a hand, and la ne 

the end oi 


the men in their sprees at 

















PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


53 


trip. But lie wasn’t any baby; be could take 
care of himself. lie never got into any 
fights while be was with me, but the men 
all learned that he couldn’t be imposed upon, 
and he was very popular among them. 
When he came on board he was dreadfully 
poor,—no money, and not much in the way 
of clothes. But he showed himself so ready, 
and willing, and obliging that I couldn’t help 
being pleased with him, and the men, every 
one of them, became warm friends of his. 
Yes, sir, he always did his work well, and 
in all the time I spent on the canal I never 
had a better boy to work for me than Jim 
Garfield. 

“ After he had been with me a few months 
cold weather came on, and the canal beo-an 
to freeze, so that we had to lay up. It was 
the boat’s last trip, and Jim saw there 
wouldn’t be any more work on the boat, and 
as he had a little money saved up, he began 
to talk of going to school. He didn’t want 
to pay out any money for board, but he was 
looking for a place where he could do work 
in exchange for his board and have all his 
money for schooling. 

“Well, I was sorry to lose Jim, for I 
liked him, and my wife had become very 
fond of him. She never had anything to do 
with many of the men, because they drank 
and swore; but Jim was such a clean, 
wholesome boy, that he was quite a favorite 
of hers. She’d always laugh when she re¬ 
called one thing she saw him do. We were 
up at Columbus and loading with barrels of 
pork, which were being marked as they were 
being rolled on board. Jim was quite fat 
then, and wore a big white hat. He looked 
on for a few moments, and then picking up a 
brush marked his hat ‘ mess pork’ and walked 
gravely off, while the men all shouted at him. 

“As he had clearly made up his mind to 
attend school, I thought I would help him a 
little. I knew Dr. J. P. Robinson, who lived 
in Bedford. lie kept a horse (for the doctors 
then used to carry round their own medi¬ 
cines), a cow, and a pig, and I thought Jim 
might get a chance to work out his board 
with the doctor. I knew the doctor was 
one of the nicest men in the world, so I gave 
Jim a letter for him. He liked the looks of 
the boy and took him. Jim took care of the 
cow and horse and attended school, lie was 
very fond of his books and learned fast. 
The doctor was a Campbellite, and when 
they had some revivals there Jim became 
converted and was a prominent speaker in 
the meetings. Afterwards, you know, he 
went to Hiram Collee’e, where he became a 
professor after he graduated. 

“I’ve never seen him since he went to 
work for the doctor, but I’ve watched his 
career with the greatest interest. I know 
the kind of boy he was,—honest, plucky, 
faithful, and trustworthy,—and ‘the boy is 
father to the man,’ you know. Some Demo¬ 


crats talk about his corruption. It isn’t in 
him to be dishonest. Why see here, I know 
every town, almost every house, in the dis- i 
trict that has sent Garfield to Congress, 
there isn t a district of the size in the coun¬ 
try where there are so many people who 
read and write. The people there are, as a 
rule, more intelligent and moral than the 
people of any district that I have visited. I 
The young men and women are at home 
either in the field and kitchen or in the 
parlor. It is a community with a high sense 
of honor, well informed, and the voters are 
men of knowledge and penetration. Now 
do you suppose such a set of men would 
send Garfield year after year to Congress if 
they even suspected him of perjury and 
dishonesty ? 

“‘Vote for Garfield!’ Of course I shall. 
If the Lord lets me live till next November 
it will be my greatest pleasure to east my 
vote for the man whom, as a boy, I found so 
faithful and honest in his hard work on the 
canal .”—New York Tribune. 


JAMES GORDON BENNETT. 

There is no name which is more widely 
known and more deservedly popular than 
that of James Gordon Bennett, of the New 
York Herald; and there is not a civilized 
spot on the earth where his paper is not read 
with interest, or where its influence is not 
felt. 

The history of the Herald , from its birth 
in a cellar to its development into the colos¬ 
sal proportions in which it existed when, by 
the death of his father, Mr. Bennett became 
the fortunate possessor, is too well known to 
require more than a passing notice here. 
Most young men inheriting as large a for¬ 
tune, and as prosperous a business as he did, 
would have been content to leave well alone, 
and enjoy their income in ease and quietude. 
Not so with the subject of our sketch. He 
did not believe in such principles of idle con¬ 
servatism. His motto was “Onward! on¬ 
ward always;” and springing manfully into 
the breach created by the death of his hon¬ 
ored parent, he has not only maintained the 
reputation of his journal, but has enhanced 
it to a remarkable degree by his enterprise 
and liberality. 

Mr. Bennett is the sole owner and manag¬ 
ing editor of the Herald , but he does not 
pretend to conduct it single-handed. lie is 
assisted by a staff of about thirty editors, 
among whom may be counted some of the ( 
keenest intellects and most talented writers 
in the country. A meeting of the editors is 
held daily; and whether absent or present, 
Mr. Bennett infuses his ideas into their coun¬ 
cils, and shapes the tone and policy of the 
paper. This he is enabled to accomplish by 
means of the telegraph, of which ho to a , 
liberal patron, having expended for special j 


service, in this connection, since the comple¬ 
tion of the cable, above a quarter of a million 
of dollars. 

1 he ability required to manage an estab¬ 
lishment of such magnitude as that of the 
Herald , may be appreciated on reading the 
following account of it given by Mr. Mat¬ 
thew Hale Smith, in his “Successful Folks.” 

“ First comes the council of editors, at the 
head of which stands Mr. Bennett himself, 
lie solely directs the course of his paper. 

“ The City Department is manned by a 
force of nearly a hundred employes, who are 
organized under a chief. The compositors 
number one hundred and fifty, who earn 
from twenty to one hundred dollars a week. 
The work is done between the hours of seven 
at night, and three in the morning. On 
special occasions one million of ‘ eras’ have 
been set up in a single night—sufficient to 
fill a volume of five hundred pages. 

“ The Herald is not printed from the type 
itself; but from stereotype plates. The 
main sheet of the paper, containing the 
latest news, is not put to press till three 
o’clock in the morning. The Herald is then 
run off by the aid of six Bullock presses 
with one hundred and twelve stereotype 
plates, and one Victory press, with its fold¬ 
ing machine, that the edition may reach 
early trains and mails. The metal neces¬ 
sary for the Herald plates for one issue 
weighs five tons. The plates are cast at the 
rate of one per minute. The stereotype de¬ 
partment is the most complete of any news¬ 
paper in the world; the machinery the best, 
and it is run by the best skilled labor. A 
force of sixteen men do the work. 

“Mr. Bennett’s genius, intelligence, and 
liberality come out in the 'press-room. The 
old presses and machinery have been re¬ 
moved. Six new double Bullock presses 
have been substituted, to which has been 
added a new perfecting double Victory, that 
prints and folds 16,000 copies of the Herald 
per hour. The Bullock can print 20,000 
perfect copies of the Herald per hour. These 
presses receive the paper in a continuous 
web, printed on both sides. They divide the 
twin sheets, cut them off, flirt them out in 
four piles, and at the rate of 20,000 per hour 
for each double press. The seven presses 
can easily turn out 127,000 copies of the 
Herald in an hour. Formerly the paper had 
to go to press at one o’clock in the morning. 
The perfection of machinery enables the pro¬ 
prietor to hold back eight pages as late as 
three o’clock in the morning. A force of not 
over twenty-five men are needed to issue tho 
daily Herald on the presses. 

“The department for delivery and mail¬ 
ing is perfect. The working is marvellous. 
Thirty men are employed counting, folding, 
wrapping, and distributing papers. A dozen 
wagons await their loads of the Herald for 
tho fast mail-trains. The news companies 


7 
















54 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. 


GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


take the papers to their own offices for dis¬ 
tribution. Rags of various colors assist mail- 
masters in their duty. Thousands of papers 
are required for up town, down town, Brook¬ 
lyn, New Jersey, and along the shore. By 
five o’clock tho demand is supplied. On 
Sunday morning a longer time is needed 
to distribute a quadruple sheet, equalling 
260,000 copies of the regular size of the 
Herald. 

“ The enormous advertising of the Herald 
is apparent. A single Sabbath’s history tells 
the story of a steadily increasing business 
from month to month. Separate advertise¬ 
ments, nearly 4000, classified under 73 head¬ 
ings,—real estate, 360 ; religion, 30; amuse¬ 
ments, 76; dry-goods, 112; wants, 450; 
finance, 127 ; boarding, 445 ; marriages, 69; 
deaths, 87. 

“ The London Times is the only journal 
that in this department can compare with 
the Herald. But the Herald out-distances 
the “ Thunderer” in the number of its adver¬ 
tisements, in classification, in lateness of the 
hour at which an advertisement can be re¬ 
ceived and inserted, and in the large force of 
messengers, boys and men, to do the work.” 

The Herald has offices in all the leading 
cities of the United States, and in London 
and Paris. It employs steam yachts at 
Sandy Hook and Whitestone for the trans¬ 
mission of ship news through the London 
and Paris offices, and to intercept vessels off 
the coast and communicate the earliest ship¬ 
ping news, supplying notices to merchants 
and captains around the world, gratis. Its 
foreign correspondence is unsurpassed if it is 
equalled; and no expense is spared to obtain 
the best and earliest news upon all stirring 
topics and events; to wit, the Franco-Prus- 
sian war, the Turko-Russian war, and the 
Abyssinian war; in the latter events the 
news having been obtained in advance of the 
British government. But no greater evi¬ 
dence of Mr. Bennett’s enterprise can be 
found than in his Stanley expedition in 
search of Livingstone, and his recent expe¬ 
dition to the North Pole. 

To his business qualities Mr. Bennett adds 
a cultivated mind, a large heart, and a spirit 
of sound philanthropy. There is no great 
deed of charity to which he does not gener¬ 
ously contribute. He is only thirty-nine 
years of age; but he has done more than 
most journalists of his time to elevate tho 
importance of the Fourth Estate, and ad¬ 
vance the sacred mission of the Press. 


As the upper sky and distant mountains 
appear blue, so a blue surface seems to retire 
from us. But as wo readily follow an agree¬ 
able object that flies from us, so we love to 
contemplate blue, not because it advances to 
us, but because it draws us after it .—Goethe. 


MEN OF THE TIME. 

Hannibal Hamlin, of Bangor, was born 
at Paris, Maine, August 27, 1809. He was 
prepared for college, but, owing to the 
death of his father, was obliged to take 
charge of the home farm until he became of 
age, when he entered a printing-office, and, 
at the same time, commenced the study of 
law. He was admitted to the bar in 1833. 
He w r as Governor of Maine in 1857, and was 
elected Vice-President of the United States 
during Abraham Lincoln’s first term of the 
Presidency. He was an honored Senator, 
and bears a name above reproach. He is 
now Minister to Spain. 

Morrison R. Waite, now Chief Justice of 
the United States, was born in Lyme, Conn., 
November 29, 1816. He was a graduate of 
Yale College, and studied law in the office 
of Hon. Samuel Young, of Maumee City, 
Ohio. For more than twenty years he was 
the leading lawyer in that State; and in the 
distinguished judicial position now occupied 
by him, he is, by his moderation and legal 
sagacity, still more conspicuously maintain¬ 
ing his reputation as one of the most able 
jurists of our country; while he also defends, 
in his own character, the wisdom of Presi¬ 
dent Grant in his appointment. 

Lot M. Morrill. — FeAv men in our coun¬ 
try have enjoyed so unreservedly the favor of 
their fellow-citizens and constituents, and in 
as full a measure, as the subject of this notice. 
Ilis present residence is Augusta, but be was 
born at Belgrave, Maine, May 3, 1815. He 
received his academic education at Waterville 
College, Maine; studied and practised law; 
was a member of the Maine Legislature from 
1854 to 1856,—the last year being Speaker 
of the Senate; was Governor of Maine from 
1858 to 1860; was elected to the United 
States Senate in 1860, to fill the vacancy 
occasioned by the election of Hannibal Ham¬ 
lin to the Vice-Presidency, taking his seat on 
the Uth of January, 1861. In 1863 he was 
re-elected ; was appointed in 1868, and after¬ 
wards elected by the Maine Legislature to 
fill the vacancy created by the death of the 
late Hon. William Pitt Fessenden. In 1871 
was re-elected as a Republican and, upon the 
resignation of Secretary Bristow, was ap¬ 
pointed, by President Ulysses S. Grant, Sec¬ 
retary of the Treasury. He is now Collector 
of the Port of Portland, Maine. 


M. Hall Stanton, of Philadelphia, has 
had a long course of public life, which he has 
carried so entirely above reproach, that tho 
least breath of censure has not been able to 
touch him. During the war he was ono of 
tho greatest supply contractors, and con¬ 
ducted his vast business in this line with 
ability and success. Ho was President of 
the Board of Education in tho City of Phila¬ 
delphia, and we think all who knew him 
regarded him as the right man in tho right 


place—even the thousands of children in the 
schools rejoiced at the sight of his kind f ace 
for he always had a word of encouragement 
for all, and the teachers all felt that in Mr 
Stanton they had a just and appreciative di¬ 
rector. His kind-heartedness has displayed 
itself in numerous friendly acts to the widow 
and orphan. He is universally popular with 
all classes. 

Thomas White Ferry was the son of a 
pioneer, and in early life inured to hardships 
He was born at Mackinaw, Mich., June 1 
1827. He entered the political field at the 
age of twenty-three. Three years later he 
was elected to the State Legislature and 
after serving two terms, was elected to the 
Senate, where he also served two terms. At 
Chicago, in the Convention of 1860, which 
nominated Lincoln, Mr. Ferry was Vice- 
President from Michigan. He served his 
first term in the Thirty-ninth Congress of 
the United States, was re-elected to the 
Fortieth, Forty-first, and Forty-second, but 
before taking his seat in the latter he was 
elected to the Senate. He presided over that 
body with credit, filling the chair of the late 
Henry Wilson. Mr. Ferry is one of those 
rare characters who combine fine intellec¬ 
tual powers with quick sympathy and a 
warm heart. He is an eminently practical 
man, and a loyal patriot. 

Frederick Frelingiiuysen was born at 
Millstone, N. J., August 4, 1817. He became 
a graduate of Rutgers College in 1836; 
studied law, and was admitted to the bar in 
1839. He was appointed Attorney-General 
of New Jersey in 1861, and was re-appointed 
in 1866. lie was subsequently appointed to 
the United States Senate, to fill the vacancy 
made by the death of William Wright, and 
was again elected to the Senate, taking his 
seat in 1871. He was a laborious commit¬ 
tee man, and as sucb his services were of the 
highest value. In the impeachment trial 
of President Johnson he took high moral 
ground, in which he was ably 7 sustained. His 
action in the reconstruction measures was 
bold and fearless,—he deplored and sought 
to alleviate the sufferings in the South. Hi 51 
service in the Senate was marked with can¬ 
dor and decision, and was honorable to him¬ 
self, his State, and his country. 

Hamilton Fisii was born in New I oik 

City, August 3, 1808. He was educated at 

Columbia College, and studied law in his 

native city\ In 1830 he was admitted as 

Attorney of the Supreme Court. Hi- Tie 

entered upon his political career at an ear y 

age. In 1842 he was elected as a Represen 

tative to Congress. In 1847 he accepted t 0 

office of Lieutenant-Governor, filling the vs 

cancy caused by 7 Mr. Gardiner's resignatio 

In 1848 ho took the oath of office as b° v J 

ernor of New York. His adminbtiat 

Tim recoin- 

was a most satisfactory one. 1U0 



















PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


mendation for tho endowment of our State 
Agricultural School, as well as one for the 
mechanical arts, were noticeable acts of his 
administration. In 1851 Mr. Fish was elected 
to tho United States Senate; his high abili¬ 
ties and consistent conduct made him an 
honored member of that body. During the 
war he was an able adviser, and freely gave 
his money and influence to the Government. 
In 1809 Mr. Fish accepted the office of Secre¬ 
tary of State, tendered him by Gen. Grant, 
and gave dignity to the position and did 
honor to the country. 

Angus Cameron, of La Crosse, AYis., was 
born at Caledonia, Livingston County, N. Y., 
on the 4th of July, 1826. lie received an 
academic education, studied law at Buffalo, 
N.Y., and was graduated from the National 
Law School, Ballston Spa. In 1857 he emi¬ 
grated to Wisconsin ; in the years 1863, ’64, 
’71, and ’72, was a member of the Wisconsin 
State Senate; in 1866 and ’67 was a member 
of the Wisconsin House of Representatives; 
in 1867 Speaker of the House; in 1864 was 
sent as a member to the National Republican 
Convention, which met in Baltimore; from 
1865 to ’75 was one of the regents of the 
University of Wisconsin ; was elected to the 
United States Senate to succeed Matthew II. 
Carpenter, the former incumbent, by the 
united votes of Democrats, Republicans, and 
Liberals, and took his seat March 4, 1875. 

Elbridge Gerry Lapham, of Canandai¬ 
gua, N. Y., was born in Farmington, N. Y., 
October 18, 1814; Avorked on a farm until 
his majority, attending the public schools in 
winter; was subsequently at the Canan¬ 
daigua Academy at the same time with the 
late Senator Douglas; studied civil engineer¬ 
ing, and was employed on the Michigan 
Southern Railroad ; afterwards studied law 
in Canandaigua, and was admitted to the 
bar in 1844; has since practised his profes¬ 
sion at Canandaigua; was a member of the 
Constitutional Convention of New York in 
1867; never was a candidate for or held 
public office, except that of Master and 
Guardian in Chancery, until, at the request 
of over four hundred electors of his district, 
he consented to be a candidate for and was 
elected to the Forty-fourth Congress as a 
Republican, receiving ten thousand eight 
hundred and fourteen votes against nine 
thousand seven hundred and seventy votes 
for Pierpont, Democrat. Mr. Lapham is, 
therefore, a distinguished example of what 
energy, determination, probity, a strong 
head and a stout heart will do for a young 
American. He is esteemed by both friends 
and foes in the political field, while honest, 
upright, and fearless in word and deed. 

Jeremiah S. Black was born in Somerset 
County, Pa., January 10, 1810. At the early 
age of nineteen he commenced tho study of 
law, and in 1830, while still in his minority, 


was admitted to the bar. In 1831 he was 
made Deputy Attorney-General for Somerset 
: County, and in 1842 was elected to the bench 
as the presiding Judge of the Court of Com- 
mon Pleas. In 1851 Mr. Black was elected 
Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Penn¬ 
sylvania, to which he was re-elected in 1854. 
In 1857, under the administration of Presi¬ 
dent Buchanan, he was appointed Attorney- 
General of the United States. In I860 he 
was Secretary of State, and in 1862, Reporter 
of the Supreme Court of the United States. 
He was elected a member of the Constitu¬ 
tional Convention of Pennsylvania of 1872 
and 1873, as a Democratic Delegate at Large, 
and took an active part in all its deliberations 
until he resigned his scat, in 1873. Mr. 
Black stands unrivalled as a legal adviser. 
He never forgets a friend, and is ever ready 
to render service to those who need it. 

James Gopsill was born in New York 
City about 1826; removed to Jersey City 
when a boy; has been neai'ty all his life en¬ 
gaged in insurance business, and is now 
President of the Hudson Insurance Com¬ 
pany, one of the oldest corporations of the 
State. Although one of the most prominent 
citizens of New Jersey, he has utterly re¬ 
fused all political honors, but in 1867 yielded 
the use of his name for the Mayoralty, and 
Avas elected in the face of a large adverse 
political majority. Ilis administration Avas 
distinguished by unfaltering integrity, faith¬ 
ful execution of the law, the suppression of 
illegal rumselling, and the decent observ¬ 
ance of the Christian Sabbath. At the out¬ 
break of the war, he lent all his energies to 
the raising of troops to support the Govern¬ 
ment. Was elected Chairman of the Com¬ 
mittee for relief of soldiers’ families, and also 
President of the Union League, and served 
as such during the war. At the close of the 
rebellion he founded and organized the Chil¬ 
dren’s Home. He has been foremost in 
every good work, the friend of the poor, the 
down-trodden and suffering, the widow and 
fatherless. 

The Honorable John P. Jones, of Gold 
Hill, Nevada, Avas born in the year 1830, in 
Herefordshire, England, and brought by his 
parents to this country Avhen less than a year 
old. Settling in the northern part of Ohio, 
they sent their son, for a feAv years, to a public 
school in Cleveland; but when the excitement 
in regard to the chances for amassing riches in 
California Avas in its incipiency, young Jones 
emigrated to the Pacific coast and engaged 
in mining and farming in one of the midland 
counties; and this county he subsequently 
represented in both Houses of the State Leg¬ 
islature. In 1867 Mr. Jones removed to 
Nevada, and since then has been largely en- 
gaged in developing the mineral resources of 
his adopted State. Ho was elected to the 
Senate of the United States, as a Republican, 


to succeed the Hon. James AY. Nye, and took 
his seat on the 4th of March, 1873. 

John F. Hartranft, Governor of Penn¬ 
sylvania in 1876, as' as born in Montgomery 
County, December 16, 1830; graduated at 
Union College, N. Y., in 1853, and was ad¬ 
mitted to the bar in 1859. Colonel of the 
First Regiment of Montgomery County .Mili¬ 
tia, he Avas among the first to offer his ser¬ 
vices to the Governor of the State upon the 
outbreak of the rebellion in 1861. He acted 
as volunteer aid to General Franklin at the 
first Bull Run battle, and A\ - as subsequently 
commissioned Colonel of the 51st Pennsyl- 
A T ania, AA'ith which he carried the bridge at 
Antietam, September 17, 1862. He served 
also before AGcksburg, and commanded a 
brigade on Sherman’s advance to Jackson, 
Miss. lie participated in the repulse of 
Longstreet before Knoxville; Avas commis¬ 
sioned Brigadier-General during the battle 
of the Wilderness, and breveted Major-Gen¬ 
eral “ for his conspicuous gallantry at the 
re-capture of Fort Steadman,” March 25, 
1865. In October, 1865, he Avas elected 
Auditor-General of the State of Pennsylva¬ 
nia; re-elected in 1868; and on the 10th of 
October, 1872, AA'as elected Governor by a 
majority of over thirty-five thousand. He 
was re-elected Governor on the 2d of Novem¬ 
ber, 1875, and is iioav the Collector of the 
Port of Philadelphia. 

The Honorable Alexander II. Rice, late 
Governor of Massachusetts, was born in 
NeAvton, Mass., in the year 1818. He re¬ 
ceived a thorough academic education, being 
graduated from Union College, N. Y., in 
1844. In the earnest business of life, he Avent 
first into the manufacturing of paper in 
Boston; in 1853 he Avas elected a member 
of the Common Council of that city, became 
President of that body, and in 1856 and ’57 
served the city in its Mayoralty. He AA-as 
elected from Massachusetts a Representative 
of the Loavcp House of the Thirty-sixth 
Congress, re-elected to the Thirty-seventh, 
Thirty-eighth, and Thirty-ninth, and, in 
1876, elected to fill the gubernatorial chair 
of Massachusetts. The repeated honors con¬ 
ferred upon Governor Rice, by his fellow- 
citizens, are guaranty sufficient of his worthi¬ 
ness to receive them, and of his faithfulness 
to his trusts. 

C. Y. B. Ostrander, of NeAv York, is the 
President of the Merchants’ Fire Insurance 
Company, of that city. Upright, honest, 
perfectly fearless of public opinion, he is 
ever ready to meet all just claims upon tho 
company. 

Mr. Ostrander is a fair specimen of tho 
New York gentleman, and, in years past, has 
proved himself by many unostentatious acts 
of charity to be a true friend to the Avidows 
and orphans of those Avho lost their lives in 
the late war. 


























5G 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. 


GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


Joseph D. Redle. —No man deserves bet¬ 
ter of bis countrymen than Joseph D. Bedle, 
for a Ions; timo Judge on the Bench of New 
Jersey, and late Governor of that State. 
Born at Middletown Point,—a place which 
is now known as Mattawan, in the County 
of Monmouth,—in January, 1831, he studied 
law at the Ballston Law School, of New 
York, where he graduated, and entered the 
law office of W. L. Dayton, at Trenton, N. J. 
Completing his studies, he commenced the 
practice of his profession at Mattawan, and 
remained there until 1855, when he removed 
to Freehold, where he acquired high reputa¬ 
tion as a lawyer. lie was appointed Judge 
of the Superior Court of New Jersey in 
18G5; again in 1872, and in 1874 was elected 
Governor of that State. Just, upright, and 
earnest in the discharge of his public func¬ 
tions, he is in private life distinguished for 
his kindness and sincerity, and has never 
been known to turn a deaf ear to any tale 
of human distress. 

Admiral David Dixon Porter was born 
in Chester, Pa., in 1813. In 1826 he was 
appointed Midshipman in the Mexican Navy, 
where he served until captured by the Span¬ 
iards. He entered the U. S. Navy in 1829, 
and served as Midshipman, Passed Midship¬ 
man, and Lieutenant, until 184G, when he 
took part in the war with Mexico, serving 
from its commencement to its close. In 
1861, while still a Lieutenant, he was ap¬ 
pointed to the command of the frigate “ Pow- 
hattan.” Rear-Admiral Porter finished his 
war service at the fall of Richmond, and Avas 
then appointed Superintendent of the Naval 
Academy at Annapolis, Md. On the promo¬ 
tion of Vice-Admiral Farragut, Admiral Por¬ 
ter was made, in 18GG, Vice-Admiral, and on 
the death of Farragut, in 1870, was pro¬ 
moted to the grade of Admiral. For his 
constant services during the late civil war, 
he received four votes of thanks from Con¬ 
gress. 


JOHN MARSHALL. 

John Marshall, LL.D., one of the subjects 
of our engravings, was born at German¬ 
town, Fauquier County, Va., on the 24th of 
September, 1755. IIis father was Colonel 
Thomas Marshall, a small planter and an 
officer who served with distinction during 
the war of the Revolution. The son also 
served as an officer in the army from 1775 
to 1779, and distinguished himself alike in 
the field and in courts-martial, where ho 
was frequently called to act as Judge Advo¬ 
cate. His early education was somewhat 
neglected ; hut lie was ambitious to improve 
his mind and, while on detached scrvico in 
Virginia, attended the law lectures at Wil¬ 
liam and Mary College, and was subse¬ 
quently licensed to practise, lie shortly 
after resigned his commission and entered 


upon the duties of his new profession.. Early 
distinguishing himself at the Virginia Con¬ 
vention for ratifying the Constitution of the 
United States and also in the State Legis¬ 
lature, he was offered a seat in the Supreme 
Court and other important judicial offices, 
but declined them. He was sent as an 
envoy to France in 1798, and was elected to 
Congress in 1799. He became Secretary of 
War in 1800, and Secretary of State shortly 
after. When, in 1801, he was nominated 
by President Adams Chief Justice of the 
United States, the Senate confirmed the 
nomination without a single dissentient 
voice; and in the performance of his high 
functions he shed decided lustre upon his 
name and country. He was regarded as a 
profound jurist, and his decisions are still 
referred to with respect. IDs chief literary 
productions are “Life of Washington,” pub¬ 
lished in 1805, and “ History of the Colonies.” 
Like the great French jurist, Pothier, he 
was ill-favored in personal appearance, and 
his manners were awkward and ungainly; 
but the greatness of his mind and the good¬ 
ness of his heart more than made up for 
his external deficiencies. He died in Phila¬ 
delphia on the 6th of July, 1835, deeply 
lamented by the nation. 


GOOD GREETINGS. 

The etiquette of Caucasian salutations is 
extremely elaborate and ceremonious. It 
does not by any means satisfy all the re¬ 
quirements of perfect courtesy to ask a 
mountaineer how he is, or how his health is, 
or how he does. You must inquire minutely 
into the details of his domestic economy, 
manifest the liveliest interest in the growth 
of his crops and the welfare of his sheep, 
and even express a cordial hope that his 
house is in a good state of repair, and his 
horses and cattle properly protected from 
any possible inclemency of weather. Fur¬ 
thermore, you must always adapt your 
greeting to time, place, and circumstances, 
and he prepared to improvise a new, grace¬ 
ful, and appropriate salutation to meet any 
extraordinary exigence. In the morning a 
mountaineer greets another with, “May 
your morning he bright I” to which the 
prompt rejoinder is, “And may a sunny day 
never pass you by!” A guest he welcomes 
with, “ May your coming bring joy!” and 
the guest replies, “ May a blessing rest on 
your house!” To one about to travel, the 
appropriate greeting is, “May God make 
i straight your road!” to one returning from 
a journey, “May health and strength come 
j back with rest!” to a newly-married couple, 

| “May you have sons like the father, and 
1 daughters like the mother!” and to one who 
has lost a friend, “May God givo you what 
| he did not live to enjoy!” Among other 


salutations in frequent use are, “May God 
make you glad !” “ May your sheep be multi¬ 
plied !” “ May you blossom like a garden!” 
“May your hearth-fire never be put out!” 
and “ May God give you the good that you 
expect not !”— Kennan. 


FRIENDS OF LONG AGO. 

When I sit in the twilight gloaming 
And the busy streets grow still, 

I dream of the wide green meadows, 
And the old house*on the hill, 

I can see the roses blooming 
About the doorway low, 

Again my heart gives greeting 
To the friends of long ago— 

Dear long ago! 

I can see my mother, sitting, 

With life’s snowflakes in her hair, 
And she smiles above her knitting, 
And her face is saintly fair. 

And I see my father reading 
From the Bible on his knee, 

And again I hear him praying 
As he used to pray for me—■ 

So long ago! 

I see all the dear old faces 

Of the boys and girls at home, 

As I saw them in the dear old days, 
Before we learned to roam. 

And I sing the old songs over 
With the friends I used to know, 
And my heart forgets its sorrows 
In its dream of long ago! 

Dear long ago! 

IIow widely our feet have wandered 
From our old home’s tender ties; 
Some are beyond the ocean, 

And some are beyond the skies. 
My heart grows sad with thinking 
Of the friends I used to know; 
Perhaps I shall meet in heaven 
All the loved ones of long ago, 
Dear long ago! 

— Selected. 


Why have I been born with all these 
warm affections, these ardent longings aftei 
good, if they lead only to sorrow and disap 
pointment? I would love some one, l°' e 
him once and forever, devote myself to him 
alone, live for him, die for him, exist alone 
in him! But, alas! in all this wide voi j 
there is none to love me as I would be l° ve > 
none whom I may love as I am capable o 
loving! How empty, how desolate sttn 
the world about mo! TV hy has Heav^ 
given me these affections only to fal 
fade ?— Longfellow. 




























PRESIDENT 

THE REPUBLICAN NATIONAL CONVENTION. 

The following is the Roll of Delegates and 
Alternates to the Republican National Con¬ 
vention, held in Chicago, Illinois, June 2, 
1880, which nominated James A. Garfield, 
of Ohio, for President, and Chester A. 
Arthur, of New York, for Vice-President. 


ALABAMA. 

DELEGATES. 

George Turner, Montgomery. 

Benjamin S. Mower, Selma. 

J. A. Thomasson, Huntsville. 

George M. Braxdall, Talladega. 

James Gillette, Mobile. 

Allen Alexander, Mobile. 

Paul Strobach, Montgomery. 

George W. Washington, Montgomery. 
Isaac Hey man, Opelika. 

William Youngblood, Union Springs. 
William J. Stevens, Selma. 

L. E. Parsons, Jr., Rockford. 

H. C. Bryan, Wetumpka. 

W. S. Bird, Eutaw. 

N. W. Trimble, Mobile. 

Arthur Brigham, Talladega. 

R. A. Mosely, Jr., Talladega. 

J. M. Hinds, Decatur. 

A. W. McCullough, Huntsville. 

ALTERNATES. 

George II. Patrick, Montgomery. 
George M. Duskin, Mobile. 

J. C. Blevins, Selma. 

J. Y. McDuffie, Hayneville. 

Moses Bracey, Gainesville. 

W. L. Matthews, Dayton. 

A. W. Johnson, Evergreen. 

Percy Morris, Montgomery Hill. 

John B. Shaw, Eufaula. 

Benjamin Y. Martin, Seals Station. 
John B. Simpson, Prattville. 

E. B. McColley, Lafayette. 

Elisha Williams, Tuscaloosa. 

Lloyd Leftwich, Eutaw. 

R. S. Heflin, Wedowee. 

Isaac Frank, Jacksonville. 

D. S. Brandon, Huntsville. 

T. J. Lake, Athens. 

ARKANSAS. 

DELEGATES. 

S. W. Dorsey, Little Rock. 

Powell Clayton, Little Rock. 

James K. Barnes, Fort Smith. 

Julius A. Barnes, El Dorado. 

M. W. Gibbs, Little Rock. 

H. Robinson, Helena. 

O. P. Snyder, Pine Bluff. 

J. II. Johnson, Augusta. 

0. A. Hadley, Little Rock. 

Jacob Friebus, Helena. 

Ferdinand ITavis, Pine Bluff. 

S. II. Holland, Lake Village. 

8 


JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


alternates. 

J. T. Penn, Harrison. 

J. P. Jones, Watson’s. 

V . D. Merriwether, Montieello. 

N. \\. Moore, Springfield. 

Morris Holmes, Hampton. 

Harrison Arbaimh 

O 

Jerome Lewis, Little Rock. 

V . II. Nelson, Hot Springs. 

S. II. Hollingsworth, Pine Bluff. 

II. F. Best, Texarkana. 

V. P. Caffrey, Dardanelle. 

O. M. Spellman, Swan Lake. 

CALIFORNIA. 

DELEGATES. 

J. C. Wilincrding, San Francisco. 

E. A. Davis, Yuba. 

Socrates Huff. Alameda. 

John Mansfield, Los Angeles. 

Samuel Mosgrove, San Francisco. 
Alexander D. Sharon, San Francisco. 
Creed Haywood. Sacramento. 

J. Iv. Doak, San Joaquin. 

II. T. Fairbanks, Sonoma. 

Joseph Ross, Humboldt. 

D. S. Payne, Santa Clara. 

F. M. Pixley, Los Angeles. 

ALTERNATES. 

C. Mason Kinne, San Francisco. 
John V. Scott, Shasta. 

J. E. Johns, Amador. 

Will M. Smith, San Diego. 

George A. Fisher, San Francisco. 

F. J. French, San Francisco. 

James Foster, Contra Costa. 

I. A. Benson, Alameda. 

F. A. Leach, Solano. 

S. G. Hillborn, Solano. 

* 

Charles Sherman, Kern. 

J. P. Sterns, Santa Barbara. 

COLORADO. 

DELEGATES. 

John L. Routt, Denver. 

Lafayette Head, Conejos. 

Amos Steck, Denver. 

George T. Clark, Leadville. 

John A. Eller, Boulder. 

M. N. Neegrowe, Canon City. 
alternates. 

E. L. Campbell, Leadville. 

E. P. Kent, Ouray. 

Wolf Londanier, Denver. 

A. P. Curry, Leadville. 

J. T. Blake, Cleora. 

J. D. Hall, Silver Cliff. 

CONNECTICUT. 

delegates. 

Henry C. Robinson, Hartford. 

John M. Douglass, Middletown. 
Augustus Brandagee, New London. 
Samuel C. Fessenden, Stamford. 
Hobart B. Bigelow, New Haven. 


Andrew S. Upson, Farmington. 

V illiam C. Hough, Essex. 

Edgar S. Tweedy, Danbury. 

N. Taylor Baldwin, Plymouth. 

V illiam M. Corbin, Union. 
Jeremiah Olney, Thompson. 

Daniel Chadwick, Lyme. 

ALTERNATES. 

Charles J. Cole, Hartford. 

George M. Harmon, New Haven. 
Robert Coit, New London. 
Frederick Miles, Salisbury. 

S. P. Newell, Bristol. 

A. E. Converse, Stafford. 

Lynde Harrison, Guilford. 

A. II. Byington, Norwalk. 

A. M. Wright, Essex. 

DELAWARE. 

DELEGATES. 

Christian Febiger, Wilmington. 

Levi G. Clarke, St. George’s. 
Nathaniel B. Smithcrs, Dover. 
James R. Lofland, Milford. 
Benjamin Burton, Georgetown. 
Albert Curry, Greenwood. 

ALTERNATES. 

S. V. B. Carty, St, George’s. 

Samuel Silver, Wilmington. 

George P. Fisher, Dover. 

Lemuel Johnson, Milford. 

Jacob Moore, Georgetown. 

Abel S. Small, Lincoln. 

FLORIDA. 

DELEGATES. 

W. W. Hicks, Arcadia. 

V. J. Shipman, Lawty. 

Sherman Conant, Jacksonville. 
Joseph E. Lee, Jacksonville. 
Reuben S. Smith, Mariana. 

F. C. Humphries, Pensacola. 

E. I. Alexander, Madison. 

James Dean, Welborn. 

ALTERNATES. 

Roy P. Moody, Jacksonville. 

D. M. Papy, St. Augustine. 

II. H. Delany, Fernandina. 

J. DeV. Hazard. 

W. N. Potter, Milton. 

Mark T. White, Pensacola. 

11. W. Chandler, Ocala. 

W. II. Gleasen, Maama. 

GEORGIA. 

DELEGATES. 

E. C. Wade, Savannah. 

W. A. Pledger, Athens. 

Edwin Belcher. Augusta. 

J. F. Long, Macon. 

Louis B. Toomer. Savannah. 

Floyd Snelson. No. 3, A. A G. R. R. 
11 F. Brinberry, Cuthbert. 

John Few, Thomasville. 

Jack Brown, Washington. 


57 






PRESIDENT 

Elbert Head, Americas. 

R. I). Locke, Columbus. 

J. C. Bealle, Hamilton. 

A. E. Buck, Atlanta. 

H. A. Rucker, Atlanta. 

W. W. Brown, Macon. 

James B. Deveaux, Macon. 

A. M. Middlebrooks, Cartersville. 

W. B. Higginbotham, Rome. 

C. II. Prince, Augusta. 

Judson W. Lyons, Augusta. 

S. A. Danielle, Atlanta. 

Madison Davis. Athens. 

ALTERNATES. 

R. R. Wright, Cuthbert. 

Harrison Harris, Madison. 

W. II. Smyth, Atlanta. 

C. O. Fisher, Griffin. 

Thomas Butler, St. Mary's. 

S. II. Morse, Savannah. 

S. M. Griffin, Quitman. 

H. R. Stewart, Bainbridge. 

W. D. King, Hawkinsville. 

S. S. Smalls, McVille. 

A. W. Port, Newnan. 

II. M. Dougherty, Hamilton. 

E. M. Brown, Griffin. 

George E. Holmes, Decatur. 

P. 0. Holt, Macon. 

Peter O'Neil, Milledgeville. 

H. S. Ober, Rome. 

J. C. Upshaw, Rome. 

W. F. Holden, Crawfordsville. 

John Heard, Greensboro. 

A. W. Watson, Athens. 

John A. Stewart, Morganton. 

ILLINOIS. 

DELEGATES. 

John A. Logan, Chicago. 

Emory A. Storrs, Chicago. 

Green B. Raum, Golconda. 

David T. Littler, Springfield. 

John Wentworth, Chicago. 

Stephen A. Douglas, Chicago. 

A. M. Wright, Chicago. 

R. S. Tuthill, Chicago. 

John L. Beveridge, Evanston. 

L. J. Kadish, Chicago. 

N. C. Thompson, Rockford. 

N. N. Ravlin, Kaneville. 

James B. Brown, Galena. 

Miles White, Lena. 

Henry T. Noble, Dixon. 

William H. Shepard, Cambridge. 

E. F. Bull, Ottawa. 

E. W. Willard, Wilmington. 

J. B. Wilson, Wellington. 

R. J. Ilanna, Kankakee. 

Joab Mershon, Vermont. 

Richard II. \\ biting, Peoria. 

Hosea Davis, Littleton. 

F. P. Burgett. 

O. B. Hamilton, Jerseyville. 

Thomas G. Black, Clayton. 


JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 

George M. Brinkerhoff, Springfield. 
Charles M. Fames, Jacksonville. 

John McNulta, Bloomington. 

Vespasian Warner, Clinton. 

John V. Harris, Champaign. 

James W. Haworth, Decatur. 

William H. Barlow, Effingham. 

Alvin P. Green, Sullivan. 

J. M. Truitt, Hillsboro. 

Louis Krueghoff. 

Andrew W. Metcalf, Edwardsvillci 
Richard Rowett, Carlinville. 

Charles O. Rattier, Cairo. 

John M. Davis, Carbondale. 

C. W. Pavey, Mt. Vernon. 

W. II. Williams, Benton. 

ALTERNATES. 

William McAdam, Chester. 

Ross Graham, Carmi. 

Solomon Degan, Ottawa. 

C. C. Campbell, Grant Park. 

Charles H. Crawford, Chicago. 

S. P. Sedgwick, Wheaton. 

John Baumgarten, Chicago. 

Charles W. AVoodman, Chicago. 

Ilomer Wilmarth, Chicago. 

S. M. Millard, Highland Park. 

A. E. Smith, Rockford. 

H. K. Wolcott. 

William II. Holcomb, Rochelle. 

Ira Scoville, Coleta. 

C. N. Whitney, Kewanee. 

Henry J. Swindler, Magnolia. 

George M. Hollenbach, Millbrook. 
Francis Bowen, Sheridan. 

II. W. Snow, Sheldon. 

Ira C. Mosier, Kankakee. 

William Jackson. 

Martin Kingman, Peoria. 

J. II. Finley, Warsaw. 

E. Mitchell. 

M. D. Massie, New Canton. 

Lyman F. Wheeler. 

George N. Black, Springfield. 

Edward S. Greenleaf, Morgan. 

Hugh Fullerton, Havana. 

R. B. Latham, Lincoln. 

Albert Emerson, Monticello. 

Thomas E. Bundy, Tuscola. 

J. W. Fisher. 

Daniel L. Gold, Lawrenceville. 

E. M. Ashcroft, Vandalia. 

R. T. Higgins, Vandalia. 

Frederick II. Pieper, Belleville. 
Jonathan Miles, Miles Station. 

E. 0. Freeman, Cobden. ' 

James A. Viall, New Brunswick. 

Charles Churchill, Albion. 

William II. Robinson, Fairfield. 

INDIANA. 

DELEGATES. 

Benjamin Harrison, Indianapolis. 

Daniel B. Kumler, Evansville. 

George W. Fridley, Bedford. 


JOURNAL. 

James S. Collins, Columbia City. 
Alexander Gilchrist, Evansville. 
William M. Hoggatt, Boonville. 
John B. Glover, Bedford. 

Samuel J. Kerchival, Washington. 
W. A. Slemmons, Corydon. 
Jonathan H. Friedley, Vienna. 
James II. Crozier, Madison. 
Francis Adkinson, Lawrenceburg. 
David A. Beem, Spencer. 

Joseph B. Homan, Danville. 
Milton Pedcn, Knightstown. 
Thomas M. Little, Connersville. 
Roscoe G. Hawkins, Indianapolis. 
James B. McFadden, Shelbyville. 
William R. McKeen, Terre Haute. 
Enos H. Nebaker, Covington. 
Baltzer K. Higinbotham, Frankfor 
George F. Chittenden, Anderson. 
Frank S. Bedell, Crown Point. 
John W. Wimer, Bennett’s Station. 
J. J. Todd, Bluffton. 

J. Fred. Nail, Kokomo. 

William M. Clapp, Albion. 

Charles K. Baxter, Waterloo. 
Clement Studebaker, South Bend. 
Benjamin F. Davenport, Elkhart. 

ALTERNATES. 

Jesse J. Brown, New Albany. 
Thomas H. Nelson, Terre Haute. 
Leonidas Sexton, Rushville. 

Byron W. Langdon, La Fayette. 

E. F. Horn, Evansville. 

Frank B. Posey, Petersburg. 
James T. Rogers, Shoals. 

James Braden, Hilham. 

Thaddeus Houston, Salem. 
William H. Fogg, Jeffersonville. 
John B. Rebuck, Versailles. 

J. C. Smelser, Liberty. 

Simeon Stansifer, Columbus. 

G. M. Overstreet, Jr., Franklyn. 
Archibald M. Kennedy, Rushville. 
Charles H. Burcheval, Richmond. 
George II. Chapman, Indianapolis. 
Nelson Bradley, Greenfield. 

George E. Hubbard, Brazil. 

Zimri Adkinson, Williamsport. 
John C. Farber, Thorntown. 

James L. Evans, Noblesville. 

M. L. Essick, Rochester. 

Charles Ivablo, Logansport. 
William A. Bonham, Hartford City. 
John M. Pettit, Wabash. 

Jacob Newman, La Grange. 
Samuel Beight, Angola. 

Landon C. Rose, Laporte. 

James S. Asney, Warsaw. 

IOWA. 

DELEGATES. 

J. S. Clarkson, Des Moines. 

S. M. Clark, Keokuk. 

D. B. Henderson, Dubuque. 

George D. D. Perkins, Sioux ( it)- 









PRESIDE 

II. A. Burrell, Washington. 

.). S. Hurley, Wappello. 

.1. W. Thompson. 

II. C. Carr, Tipton. 

J. F. Bassett, McGregor. 

P. F. Sturgis, West Union. 

H. L. Huff, Eldorado. 

L. S. Butler. 

Frank S. Upton, Cedar Rapids. 

R. M. Haines, Grinnell. 

J. F. Greenlee. 

George I). Wooden, Sigourney. 

Edward R. McKee, Indianola. 

John J. Runnels, Des Moines. 

P. W. Llewellyn, Clarinda. 

J. W. Sharp, Atlantic. 

W. D. Lucas. 

I). W. Hark ness. 

ALTERNATES. 

J. H. Powers, Hew Hampton. 

George A. Morse, Corning. 

J. C. Schrader, Iowa City. 

B. F. Ell wood. 

J. G. Nowbold, Mt. Pleasant. 

James Ellcrick. 

J. S. Stacey, Anamosa. 

E. S. Bailey, Clinton. 

I). W. Bruckart, Independence. 

H. L. Raum, Manchester. 

Aaron Kimball, Cresco. 

W. C. Hayward. 

L. Clark, Tama City. 

B. F. Reno, Marengo. 

E. C. Haines. 

J. P. Early, Monroe. 

G. W. Blake, Chariton. 

C. C. Goodale. 

W. S. Strawn, Red Oak. 

A. Mallory, Afton. 

D. E. Snow. 

George E. Roberts, Fort Dodge. 
KANSAS. 

DELEGATES. 

John A. Martin, Atchison. 

Perry Hutchinson, Marysville. 

George II. Case, Mankato. 

Simon Matz, Hays City. 

Benjamin F. Simpson, Paola. 

S. S. Benedict, Guilford. 

B. W. Perkins, Oswego. 

P. B. Plumb, Emporia. 

William Thompson, Burlingame. 

II. W. Walcott, Garfield. 

ALTERNATES. 

N. A. Adams, Manhattan. 

W. B. Townsend, Lansing. 

W. II. Barnes, Stockton. 

Charles T. Johnson, Oberlin. 

L. K. Kirk, Garnett. 

W. J. Buchan, Wyandotte. 

E. A. Howard. 

R. W. P. Muse, Newton. 

C. F. Daniels, Sterling. 

J. C. Long. 


NT JAMES A. GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL JOURNAL 


KENTUCKY. 


DELEGATES. 

. ” alter Evans, Louisville. 

\\ m. (). Bradley, Lancaster. 

John I). White, Manchester. 

John If. Jackson, Lexington. 

J. IE Puryear, Paducah. 

J. H. Happy, Mayfield. 

A. II. Clark, Hopkinsville. 

E. C. Hubbard, Hartford. 

W. G. Hunter, Berkesville. 

George T. Blakey, Auburn. 

E. FI. Hobson, Greensbuiv. 

John W. Lewis, Springfield. 

Silas F. Miller, Louisville. 

James F. Buckner, Louisville. 

J. E. Hamilton, Covington. 

John II. Barbour, Falmouth. 

E. P. Stall, Lexington. 

William Brown, Nicholasville. 
John Iv. Faulkner, Lancaster. 
Logan McKee, Danville. 

A. E. Adams, Piketon. 

A. T. Wood, Mt. Sterling. 

W. W. Culberson, Ashland. 

Morris C. Hutchins, Mayville. 

ALTERNATES. 

G. W. Dupuy, Paducah. 

E. L. Motley, Louisville. 

George Denney, Jr., Lancaster. 

T. Z. Morrow, Somerset. 

E. Farley, Paducah. 

E. W. Bagby, Paducah. 

J. F. Kimbly, Owensboro. 

John Feland, Hopkinsville. 

E. II. Reed, Scattsville. 

A. J. Bowles, Bowling Green. 

R. L. Wintersmith, Elizabethtown. 
J. D. Belden, Lebanon. 

J. Q. Adams, Louisville. 

Alex. Morris, Louisville. 

E. E. Wood, Newport. 

John M. Wilson. 

James Thomas, Paris. 

G. F. Walker, Owenton. 

James II. Caperton, Richmond. 
Thomas H. Marden, Harrodsburg. 
II. C. Eversale, Hazard. 

A. R. Dyche, London. 

R. Gudgell, Owingsville. 

John Means, Ashland. 

LOUISIANA* 

DELEGATES. 

II. C. Warmouth. 

James Lewis. 

J. L. Ludding. 

A. J. Dumont. 

W. P. Kellogg. 

Don A. Pardee. 

Richard Simms. 

A. S. Badger. 

Samuel Wakefield. 

» Two lists are given from this State. 


A. IF Leonard. 

William Harper. 

James S. Matthews. 

W. L. McMillan. 

David Young. 

J. IF Burch. 

Jack Wharton. 

ALTERNATES. 

George I 1 . Ruby. 

Charles IF Cripps. 

Pierre Landoy. 

George L. Norton. 

Robert 0. Herbert. 

Charles Gordon. 

J. P. Coates. 

A. Raf'ord Blount. 

Morris Marks. 

J. A. Gla. 

Noah Neely. 

B. H. Lanier. 

J. W. Cook. 

E. Gantt. 

B. Y. Baranco. 

J. D. Kennedy. 

DELEGATES. 

Taylor Beattie, Thibodeaux. 

P. B. S. Pinchback, New Orleans. 

T. T. Allain, Rapheal P. 0. 

W. Pitt Kellogg, Washington, I). C 

C. Busy, New Orleans. 

J. R. Beckwith, New Orleans. 

J. S. Davidson, Bayou Goula. 

J. B. Gaudet, New Orleans. 

J. R. G. Pitkin, New Orleans. 

A. A. Maurice, New Orleans. 
Octave Rey, New Orleans. 

A. Duperier, Iberia. 

T. A. Cage, Houma. 

B. G. Kenney, Red River. 

G. Hawkins, Delta. 

Henry Demas, Edgar. 

ALTERNATES. 

II. C. C. Astwood, New Orleans. 
Philip Robertson, Callton. 

A. Benjamin, Baton Rouge. 

Jordan Stewart, Houma. 

E. L. St. Cereau, New Orleans. 

W. J. Yell, Lake Providence. 

J. A. Hall, Campte. 

T. Fontelieu, Iberia. 

M. S. Jackson, Morgan City. 

C. IF Gordan, Plaquemines. 

Y. Dickerson, Convent P. O. 

C. B. Darrell, Morgan City. 

L. A. Martinet, S. Martinville. 
Oscar Crosier, Terrebonne. 

II. Fuenter, Algiers. 

W. W. Johnson, Omega. 

MAINE. 

DELEGATES. 

Kimono Halo. KUsworth. 

O 

James D. Bodwell, Hallowed 

K. F. (iile, Auburn. 









60 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


AI mon A. Strout, Portland. 

W. W. Thomas, Jr., Portland. 
Joseph It. Libby, Biddeford. 
William P. Frye, Lewiston. 

.1. W. Wakefield, Bath. 

Joseph R. Manley, Augusta. 

S. S. Marble, Waldoborougb. 

Lewis Barker, Bangor. 

Levvellyn Powers, Iloulton. 

L. G. Downes, Calais. 

John S. Case, Rockland. 

ALTERNATES. 

Orville D. Baker, Augusta. 
Frederick Dow, Portland. 

William II. Simpson, Belfast. 

A. C. Rawlin, Bangor. 

William Osgood, North Yarmouth. 
Elisha II. Jewett, South Berwick. 
.1. P. Swazey, Canton. 

Charles J. Talbot, East Wilton. 

D. D. Stewart, St. Albans. 

John T. Richards, Gardiner. 
Charles Shaw, Dexter. 

E. A. Thompson, Dover. 

L. A. Emery, Ellsworth. 

John Pierce, Winterport. 

MARYLAND. 

DELEGATES. 

James A. Gary, Baltimore. 

Lloyd Lowndes, Jr., Cumberland. 
J. Morrison Harris, Baltimore. 
Jacob Tome, Port Deposit. 

Charles T. Westcott, Chestertown. 
Samuel Mallalien, Millington. 

John A. Creswell, Elkton. 

Jacob J. Weaver, Jr., Uniontown. 
D. Pinkney West, Baltimore. 

W. W. Johnson, Baltimore. 

William J. Hooper, Baltimore. 

II. J. Brown, Baltimore. 

J. Parran Crane, Leonardtown. 
John W. Belt, Upper Marlboro. 
Upton Buhrman, Myersvillc. 
Benjamin IT. Miller, Sandy Spring. 

ALTERNATES. 

George C. Maund, Baltimore. 

S. Parker Basley, Towsontown. 
William H. Perkins, Chestertown. 
James E. Briscoe, Baltimore. 

C. F. Duer, Crisfield. 

Robert I). Bradley. 

II. C. Longnecker, Towsontown. 
George Mottler, Frederick. 

J. W. Locks, Baltimore. 

O. O. Deavcr, Baltimore. 

A. Warfield Monroe, Baltimore. 

J. L. II. Smith, Baltimore. 

David E. Hopkins, Lisbon. 

James II. Logan, Baltimore. 
Francis Adams. 

John Swaldncr. 


MASSACHUSETTS. 

DELEGATES. 

George F. Hoar, Worcester. 
Charles R. Codman, Boston. 

John E. Sanford, Taunton. 

Julius H. Seclye, Amherst. 

Charles W. Clifford, New Bedford. 
Azariah Eldridge, Yarmouth. 
William C. Lovering, Taunton. 

F. A. Hobart, Braintree. 

Phineas Pierce, Boston. 

Choate Burnham, Boston. 

Eustace C. Fitz, Chelsea. 

J. Otis Weatherbec, Boston. 

H. Cabot Lodge, Nahant. 

Daniel Russell, Melrose. 

Dudley Porter, Haverhill. 

N. A. Horton, Salem. 

George S. Bout well, Groton. 
George A. Marden, Lowell. 

R. M. Morse, Jr., Boston. 

George W. Johnson, Milford. 

W. S. B. Hopkins, Worcester. 
William Knowlton, Upton. 
Alpheus Harding, Athol. 

Timothy Merrick, Holyoke. 
Wellington Smith, Lee. 

M. B. Whitney, Westfield. 

ALTERNATES. 

Eben F. Stone, Ncwburyport. 
James M. Barker, Pittsfield. 
Charles Allen, Newton. 

Robert R. Bishop, Newton. 

Daniel E. Damon, Fall River. 
William S. Greene, Fall River. 
George A. Adams, Attleboro. 

John J. Whipple, Brockton. 
Horace T. Rockwell, Boston. 
Arthur W. Tafts, Boston. 

Benjamin F. Campbell, Boston. 
John J. Smith, Boston. 

Edward D. Hayden, Woburn. 
Hartwell S. French, Lynn. 

E. H. Haskell, Gloucester. 

David Bremmer, Boxford. 

E. J. Sherman, Lawrence. 

George Strows, Lowell. 

T. Lyman, Brookline. 

George W. Park, Cambridge. 
George W. Johnson, Brookfield, 
h rank A. Gaskell, Worcester. 
Elisha Brain hall, Clinton. 

U illiam B. Halo, Northampton. 

A. J. Waterman, Pittsfield. 

Charles S. Chapin, Springfield. 

MICHIGAN. 

delegates. 

Jas. F. Joy, Detroit. 

Omar D. Conger, Port Huron. 
Perry Hannah, Traverse City. 

E. C. Watkins, Rockford. • 

^ illiam G. Thompson, Detroit. 

D. O. Farrand, Detroit. 


J. D. Ronan, Monroe. 

Louis B. Penfield, Hillsdale. 

C. D. Randall, Cold water. 

Morgan Bates, Jackson. 

A. FI. Morrison, St. Joseph. 

J. W. French, Three Rivers. 
Geoige A. Farr, Grand Haven. 

A. B. Watson, Grand Rapids. 
Charles Kipp, St. Johns. 

J. M. Adams, Flint. 

B. W. Huston, Y assar. 

William Jenny, Mt. Clemens. 

E. 0. Avery, Alpena. 

Thomas N. Stevens, Greenville. 

J. II. Chandler, Houghton. 

D. A. Blodgett, IFersey. 

ALTERNATES. 

William A. Gavett, Detroit. 
William Ilautsuff, Port Huron. 
Wellington R, Burt, East Saginaw. 
Y. P. Collier, Battle Creek. 

W. IF. Coots, Detroit. 

S. W. Walker, Jr., Detroit. 

C. R. Miller, Adrian. 

A. J. Sawyer, Ann Arbor. 

D. Ft. Cook, Hastings. 

Jj. C. Taylor, Charlotte. 

Josiah Andrews, Paw Paw. 

S. T. Reed, Cassopolis. 

W. P. Williams, Allegan. 

David McLachlin, Muskegon. 

E. A. Mann, Howell. 

A. S. Nichols, Corunna. 

J. C. Waterbary, Sand Lake. 

J. B. Moore, La Barge. 

Byron E. Warren, Bay City. 

John S. Eastabroolc, East Saginaw. 
S. M. Stephenson, Menominee. 

M. P. Gale, Big Rapids. 

MINNESOTA. 

DELEGATES. 

D. Sinclair, Winona. 

A. O. Whipple, Northfield. 

E. M. Sabin, Stillwater. 

Dorilus Morrison, Minneapolis. 

A. C. Wedge, Albert Lee. 

J. Y. Daniels, Rochester. 

Marcus Johnson, W ilmar. 

George Bryant, Elgin. 

E. F. Drake, St. Paul. 

C. F. Kindred, Brainard. 

ALTERNATES. 

O. Y. Tousley, Minneapolis. 

D. B. Johnson, Austin. 

G. D. Post, Lake City. 

Daniel Fish, Delano. 

C. II. Smith, Windom. 

Lars O. Harms, Preston. 

William P. Foender, New Ulm. 
Lane K. Stone, Montevideo. 

1). B. Searles, St, Cloud. 

II. 1). Page, Fergus Falls. 







bu 3 B Bali i 


StN. 









PRESIDENT 

MISSISSIPPI. 

DELEGATES. 

Blanche K. Bruce, Rosedale. 

James Hill, Jackson. 

George M. Buchanan, Holly Springs 
H. C. Carter, Vicksburg. 

W. H. Ken non, Columbus. 

George C. McKee, Tongaloo. 

Henry C. Niles, Kosciusko. 

Joshua R. Smith, Meridian. 

George W. Gayles, Stormville. 

E. M. Libby, Stormville. 

Samuel P. Hurst, Chapel Hill. 

W. W. Bell, Pontotoc. 

Green C. Chandler, Corinth. 

Charles W. Clark, Greenville. 

E. II. Montgomery, Durant. 

Richard F. Beck, Vicksburg. 

ALTERNATES. 

John R. Lynch, Natchez. 

Thomas W. Hunt, Jackson. 

John S. Burton, Holly Springs. 

Wesley Creighton, Vicksburg. 

James IV. Lee, Aberdeen. 

IV. II. Furniss, Hazlehurst. 

C. S. Jones, Kosciusko. 

H. II. Truhart, Lexington. 

A. P. Shattuck, Okolona. 

D. T. J. Matthews, Sardis. 

J. P. Matthews, Hazlehurst. 

Richard Griggs, Mayersville. 

Henry R. Smith, Canton. 

William Noonan, Natchez. 

W. IV. Edwards, Vicksburg. 

H. C. Powers, Starkvilie. 

MISSOURI. 

DELEGATES. 

Chauncey I. Filley, St. Louis. 

Robert T. Vanhorn, Kansas City. 
Harrison E. Havens, Springfield. 

David Wagner, Canton. 

Nicholas Berg, St. Louis. 

John A. Weber, Farmington. 

Thomas B. Rodgers, St. Louis. 

John IV. Wheeler, St. Louis. 

John Henry Pohlman, St. Louis. 

T. G. Allen, Jennings. 

William Ballentine, Commerce. 

James Lindsay, Centreville. 

Hamilton E. Baker, Kolia. 

Thaddeus A. Lowe, Union. 

Robert C. McBeth, Clinton. 

IV. E. Maynard, Joplin. 

A. D. Jaynes, Sedalia. 

A. G. Hollenbeck, Buffalo. 

William J. Terrill, Harrisonville. 

Luther Clay Slavens, Kansas City. 

Samuel C. McCluskey, Maryville. 

N. Fred. Essig, Plattsburg. 

Thomas D. Neal, Bethany. 

George Hall, Trenton. 

Thomas J. Whiteman, Carrollton. 

Henry N. Cook, Columbia. 

II. M. Hiller, Kahoka. 


JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 

James E. Adams, Edina. 

Richard A. Buckner, St. Charles. 
Stuart darkener, Louisiana. 

ALTERNATES. 

Donald McLeod, St. Louis. 

V illiam Walker, Lexington. 

Charles G. Burton, Nevada. 

James K. Kidd, Kiddrid<ie. 

John Krauss, South St. Louis. 

<A. Newcomb, Kimmswick. 

John S. Lavender, St. Louis. 

Thomas C. Dutro, St. Louis. 

William Wilhelm, St. Louis. 

F. M. Lally, St. Louis. 

John Bushing, Charleston. 

Byrd Duncan, Poplar Bluff. 

J. B. Riggs. Houston. 

Luman F. Parker, Rolla. 

Charles II. Brown, Lamar. 

William Page, Butler. 

C. A. Thompson, Jefferson City. 

Robert Taubman, Lexington. 

J. IV. Jenkins, Kansas City. 

John D. S. Cook, Kansas City. 

M. M. Campbell, Albany. 

James T. Beach, St. Joseph. 

John P. Jones, Keytesville. 

J. C. Kennedy, Moberly. 

George IV. Castrop, Westphalia. 

J. L. Jones, Malta Bend. 

Fletcher White, Macon City. 

A. L. Stewart, La Grange. 

C. IV. Rush, Warrenton. 

Charles S. Waldon, Bowling Green. 

NEBRASKA. 

DELEGATES. 

James IV. Dawes, Crete. 

Lorenzo Crounse, Fort Calhoun. 

J. L. Mitchell, Nebraska City. 

William Gaslin, Orleans. 

D. A. Lewis, Albion. 

N. R. Persinger, Central Cit} r . 

ALTERNATES. 

J. Jensen, Genoa. 

J. J. Brown, Omaha. 

Isaac Wildes, Plattsmouth. 

V. L. Bierbower, Sydney. 

G. A. Brooks, Niobrara. 

L. M. Keene, Fremont. 

NEVADA. 

DELEGATES. 

E. Strother. 

IV. IV. Bishop. 

C. C. Stephenson. 

T. D. Edwards. 

J. J. Migs. 

M. D. Foley. 

ALTERNATES. 

J. R. Shaw. 

J. W. McWilliams. 

J. B. Williamson. 


JOURNAL. 

Benjamin Curler. 

S. S. Grass. 

W. J. Marsh. 

NEW HAMPSHIRE. 
DELEGATES. 

William E. Chandler, Concord. 
David II. Buffum, Great Falls. 

Ruel Durkoo, Croydon. 

Benjamin F. Prescott, Epping. 
Charles M. Murphy, Dover. 

Joel Eastman, Conway. 

Charles Holman, Nashua. 

James G. Sturgis, Manchester. 
Samuel IV. Hale, Keene. 

A. L. Brown, IVhiteficld. 

ALTERNATES. 

Benjamin A. Kimball, Concord. 
John H. Broughton, Portsmouth. 
James A. Wood, Acworth. 

Augustus A. Woolson, Lisbon. 
Stephen G. Norcross, Conway. 
Charles B. Gafney, Rochester. 
Charles Williams, Manchester. 
David II. Goodall, Antrim. 

E. IV. Gustine, Keene. 

II. L. Tilton, Littleton. 

NEW JERSEY. 

DELEGATES. 

Judson Kilpatrick, Deckertown. 
William J. Sewell, Camden. 

George A. Halsey, Newark. 

William Walter Phelps, Tenaply. 

C. II. Sinnickson, Salem. 

Samuel Hopkins, Woodbury. 

JohnS. Irick, Vinc-enttown. 

John S. Schutze, Manchester. 

John F. Babcock, New Brunswick. 
Chillion Robbins, Freehold. 
Nathaniel IV. Voorhees, Clinton. 

IV. A. Stiles, Deckertown. 

Henry L. Butler, Paterson. 

A. A. Vance, Morristown. 

Edward L. Joy, Newark. 

A. P. Condit, East Orange. 

James M. Gopsell, Jersey City. 

B. IV. Throckmorton, Jersey City. 

ALTERNATES. 

John I. Blair, Blairstown. 

Z. K. Pangborn, Jersey City. 

Garrett A. Hobarth, Paterson. 
Charles M. Theberath, Newark. 

W. Harrison Livermore, Woodbury. 
J. F. Nicholson, Woodbury. 

William II. Skirm, Trenton. 

J. G. Gardner, Atlantic City. 

John C. Rose, Linden. 

Washington Lithgow, Plainfield. 
Peter Cramer, New Hampton. 

J. G. Schenck, Noshanic. 

R. B. Terkune, Hackensack. 

J. Seward Wills, Stanhope. 

II. J. Yates, Newark. 





62 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


W. Ricker, Jr., Irvington. 

Aaron S. Baldwin, Weekawken. 

W. Taylor, Jersey City. 

NEW YORK. 

DELEGATES. 

Roscoe Conk ling, Utica. 

Alonzo B. Cornell, New York. 
Chester A. Arthur, New York. 
James D. Warren, Buffalo. 

John Birdsall, Glen Cove. 

Simeon S. Hawkins, Jamesport. 
James Jourdan, Brooklyn. 

Amos F. Learned, Brooklyn. 
Frederick A. Schroeder, Brooklyn. 
Albert Daggett, Brooklyn. 

Jacob Worth, Brooklyn. 

Benjamin F. Tracey, Brooklyn. 
Edwards Pierrepont, New York. 
Edward W. Stoughton, New York. 
Charles E. Cornell, New York. 
DeWitt C. Wheeler, New York. 
Jacob M. Patterson, Jr., New York. 
John J. O’Brien, New York. 

John D. Lawson, New York. 
Charles Blackie, New York. 

Joel W. Mason, New York. 

Stephen B. French, New York. 
Solon B. Smith, New York. 
Bernard Biglin, New York. 

Thomas Murphy, New York. 

Jacob Hess, New York. 

William II. Robertson, Katonah. 
James W. Husted, Peekskill. 

Louis F. Payn, Chatham Tillage. 
John B. Dutcher, Pawling. 

Moses D. Stivers, Middletown. 
Blake G. Wales, Pike Pond. 

George H. Sharpe, Kingston. 

Rufus II. King, Catskill. 

Henry R. Piei\son, Albany. 

Charles P. Easton, Albany. 

John M. Francis, Troy. 

Isaac V. Baker, Jr., Comstock’s. 
William W. Rockwell, Glens Falls. 
Oliver Abell, Sr., Elizabethtown. 
Wells S. Dickinson, Bangor. 

Henry R. James, Ogdensburg. 
Webster Wagner, Palatine Bridge. 
George West, Ballston. 

Ferris Jacobs, Jr., Delhi. 

David Wilber, Milford. 

John P. Douglass, Theresa. 

Sydney Sylvester, Martinsburgli. 
Edward II. Shelley, Rome. 

William II. Comstock, Utica. 
George M. Case, Fulton. 

Charles L. Kennedy, Morrisville. 
Dennis McCarthy, Syracuse. 

James J. Belden, Syracuse. 

William B. Woodin, Auburn. 

John B. Murray, Seneca Falls. 
Francis O. Mason, Genova. 

George N. Hicks, Penn Yan. 
Thomas C. Platt, Oswego. 

Orlow W. Chapman, Binghamton. 


Chester S. Cole, Corning. 

Charles J. Langdon, Elmira. 

Edward A. Frost, Rochester. 

Henry A. Bruner, Albion. 

George G. Hoskins, Attica. 

John E. Pound, Lockport. 

Ray V. Pierce, Buffalo. 

John Nice, Grand Island. 

Norman M. Allen, Dayton. 

Loren B. Sessions, Panama. 

ALTERNATES. 

Lewis Lawrence, Utica. 

Jacob Hoysradt, Hudson. 

Stewart L. Woodford, Brooklyn. 
John N. Knapp, Auburn. 

George Wallace, Freeport. 

William Nicoll, Islip. 

Andrew J. Perry, Brooklyn. 

David S. Arnott, Brooklyn. 

George F. Elliott, Brooklyn. 

August II. Goetting, Brooklyn. 
Frank C. Lang, Brooklyn. 

James L. Jensen, Brooklyn. 
Matthew Stewart, New York. 

John II. Brady, New York. 

John Simpson, New York. 

Chester 11. Southworth, New York. 
John Harris Brady, New York. 
Joseph C. Pinckney, New York. 
John W. Jacobus, New York. 

H. Howard Cargill, New York. 
Charles A. Flammer, New York. 
Charles F. Bruder, New York. 
Charles H. Hall, New York. 

Edward S. Goss, New York. 

James M. Varnum, New York. 
William R. Spooner, New York. 

J. Thomas Stearns, Tremont. 

James C. Cooley, Westchester. 
James N. Townsend, Hudson. 

Ezra White, Poughkeepsie. 

James W. Taylor, Newburgh. 
Dwight B. Baker, Suffern. 

William R. Sheffield, Saugerties. 
Benjamin M. Handy, Schoharie. 
John F. Smyth, Albany. 

Addison A. Keyes, Albany. 

William F. Taylor, Berlin. 

A. Dallas Wait, Fort Edward. 
Shepard P. Bowen, Plattsburgh. 
Frederick A. Johnson, Glens Falls. 
Erasmus I). Brooks, Potsdam. 
Daniel Peck, Gouverneur. 

Daniel P. McQueen, Schenectady. 
George W. Fay, Gloversville. 

Alonzo D. Harrington, Oxford. 
Novatus M. Blish, Hobart. 

Luther II. Bailey, Antwerp. 

Clinton L. Merriam, Locust Grove. 
Jonathan A. Hill, Forestport. 
Arthur B. Johnson, Utica. 

Nathan B. Smith, Pulaski. 

Watson A. Stone, Oneida. 

J. C. Carmichael, Cortland. 

Myron Bangs, Fayetteville. 


Leander Fitts, Moravia. 

Walter II. Allen, Waterloo. 

Cyrillo S. Lincoln, Naples. 

Clark Smith, Dundee. 

Francis M. Finch, Ithaca. 

Benjamin W. Woodward, Watkins. 
Wilbur W. Capron, Wayland. 

Eaton N. Frisbee, Elmira. 

Timothy II. Holden, Iloneoye Falls. 
Adolph Nolte, Rochester. 

Wolcott J. Humphrey, Warsaw. 
Ralph Stockwell, Wilson. 

Norris Morey, Buffalo. 

II. G. Leland, Springville. 

John E. Dusenbury, Portville. 
Horatio G. Brooks, Dunkirk. 

NORTH CAROLINA. 
DELEGATES. 

AY. P. Canady, Wilmington. 

D. II. Starbuck, Salem. 

J. II. Harris, Raleigh. 

Rufus Barringer, Charlotte. 

Samuel AY. Carron, AYashington. 
Palemon John, Elizabeth City. 
Israel B. Abbott, Newberne. 
Claybourn Faison. 

George AA r . Price, Wilmington. 

O. H. Blocker, Fayetteville. 

Isaac J. Young, Raleigh. 

Stewart Ellison, Raleigh. 

Thomas B. Keogh, Greensboro. 

.J. AY. Hardin, Graham. 

O. J. Spears, Troy. 

W. R. Myers, Charlotte. 

W. AY. Rollins, Marshall. 

D. C. Pearson, Morganton. 

Thomas N. Cooper, Cooper’s Store. 
J. J. Matt, Statesville. 

ALTERNATES. 

AY. S. Pearson, Morganton. 

George AY. Stanton, Stantonsburg. 

L. T. Christmas, Warrenton. 

A. M. Diffee, Ashboro. 

William Outlaw, AYindsor. 

Aides Commander, Elizabeth City. 
A. YIcCabe, Tarboro. 

E. R. Page, Kinston. 

William Al. Black, Carthage. 

John S. Leary, Fayetteville. 

P. B. Hawkins, Louisburg. 

AY. AV. Arrington, Hilliardston. 
Joseph A. Hoskins, Summerfield. 

L. S. Keith, Lexington. 

-Kennedy, AVadesboro. 

-Halloway, Lamberton. 

-Pinkham, AA r inston. 

D. L. Bringle, Statesville. 

oiiio. 

DELEGATES. 

AVilliam Dennison, Columbus. 

James A. Garfield, Alentor. 

Charles Foster, Fostoria. 












PRESIDENT JAMES A. 


Warner M. Bateman, Cincinnati. 
Benjamin Butterworth, Cincinnati. 
Albert Schall, Cincinnati. 

Henry Kessler, Cincinnati. 

Charles Fleishmann, Cincinnati. 

1). W. McClung, Hamilton. 

A. R. Creamer, Washington C. IT. 
W. D. Bickham, Dayton. 

Frank G. Thompson, Eaton. 

Joseph Morris, Lima. 

J. W. Conklin, Celina. 

J. M. Ritchie, Toledo. 

W. W. Touvelle, Wauseon. 

Marcus Boggs, Chillicothe. 
Alphonso Hart, Hillsboro. 

C. I). Wright, Troy. 

J. F. Gowey, Urbana. 

W. C. Cooper, Mt. Vernon. 

Amos Glover, Delaware. 

I. F. Mack, Sandusky. 

D. M. Darkness, Bellevue. 

William Mash, Gallipolis. 

Daniel Will, McArthur. 

F. C. Sessions, Columbus. 

.John Groce, Circleville. 

A. W. Train, Zanesville. 

James Buckingham, Newark. 

C. H. Hedges, Mansfield. 

S. D. Hunt, Upper Sandusky. 

R. M. Stimson, Marietta. 

John W. Doherty, Woodsfield. 

J. S. Pearce, Cadiz. 

J. D. Taylor, Cambridge. 

J. II. Tripp, Carrollton. 

A. W. Jones, Youngstown. 

W. H. Williams, Medina. 

L. A. Sheldon, Oberlin. 

Evan Morris, Gerard. 

J. C. Beatty, Ravenna. 

S. T. Everett, Cleveland. 

James Barnett, Cleveland. 

ALTERNATES. 

Orrin B. Gould, Portsmouth. 

John F. Ivumler, Toledo. 

James Bufort, Springfield. 
Christian Moerlein, Cincinnati. 

Abe Mayer, Cincinnati. 

Samuel Baily, Jr., Cincinnati. 
Samuel Trost, Cincinnati. 

John Birnbum, Cincinnati. 

George R. Sage, Lebanon. 

J. N. Orin, Wilmington. 

A. McDowell, Xenia. 

John Devor, Greenville. 

Lewis S. Gordon, Antwerp. 

Cortes Ewing, Ottawa. 

Earl W. Merry, Bowling Green. 

R. D. Dole, Bryan. 

John W. ITook, West Union. 

J. W. Barger, Piketon. 

J. N. Beech, London. 

Hannibal G. Hamlin, Springfield. 
L. M. Strong, Kenton. 

Hylas Sabin, Rich wood. 

James A. Blair, Tiffin. 


GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 

Mahlon Chance, Fremont. 

Frank D. Baird, Logan. 

Joseph Fischer, Ironton. 

John S. Brasee, Lancaster. 

N. F. Hitchcock, Junction City. 

J- E- Thrall, Newark. 

H. C. Vanvorhes, Zanesville. 

I. M. Beer, Ashland. 

T. B. Cunningham, Holmes. 

Charles L. Kurtz, Athens. 

J. R. Foulk, McConnellsville. 

Turner G. Brown, Cambridge. 

James F. Sarratt, Steubenville. 

J. W. Gillespie, Alliance. 

H. R. Hill, East Liverpool. 

J. IT. Faxon, Elyria. 

Jacob Frick, Wooster. 

J. O. Converse, Chardon. 

George W. Clement, Willoughby. 

\\ illiam Kaufman, Cleveland. 

E. IT. Eggleston, Cleveland. 

OREGON. 

DELEGATES. 

J. M. McCall, Ashland. 

O. P. Tompkins, Harrisburg. 

D. C. Ireland, Astoria. 

Samuel Hannah, Union. 

II. W. Scott, Portland. 

John H. Mitchell, Portland. 

PENNSYLVANIA. 

DELEGATES. 

Matthew S. Quay, Philadelphia. 

James McManes, Philadelphia. 

J. Hay Brown, Lancaster. 

Christopher L. Magee, Pittsburg. 
William J. Pollock, Philadelphia. 
William S. Douglass, Philadelphia. 
William R. Leeds, Philadelphia. 

David II. Lane, Philadelphia. 

William L. Smith, Philadelphia. 

David Mouat, Philadelphia. 

William Ellwood Rowan, Philadelphia. 
Hamilton Disston, Philadelphia. 
Thomas I. Powers, Philadelphia. 

Adam Albright, Philadelphia. 

Amos Gartside, Chester. 

William B. Waddell, West Chester. 
Caleb N. Taylor, Bristol. 

Chester N. Farr, Reading. 

Samuel R. Deppen, Robsonia. 

A. I. Kauffman, Columbia. 

W. K. Seltzer, Ephrata. 

Howard J. Reeder, Easton. 

Harrison Bortz, Allentown. 

*S. Y. Thompson, Danville. 

W. A. M. Grier, Hazleton. 

J. J. Albright, Scranton. 

Alexander Farnham, Wilkesbarre. 

Samuel A. Losch, Schuylkill Haven. 
William S. Moorehead, Trackville. 

J. Donald Cameron, Harrisburg. 

SC. (LJackTo^Tf Berwick, delegate, deceased, April 
1880. 


JOURNAL. 

Charles II. Berger, Harrisburg. 

O. D. Kinney, Towanda. 

C. C. Jadwin. Ilonesdale. 

W illiam II. Armstrong, Williamsport 
Thomas L. Kane, Kane. 

John Cessna, Bedford. 

David Over, Hollidaysburg. 

Joseph G. Isenberg, Huntingdon. 

B. F. Wagenseller, Selinsgrove. 
James Ilersch, Gettysburg. 

John Hays, Carlisle. 

James A. Beaver, Bellefonte. 

M. L. Brosius, Lewiston. 

George Huff, Greensburg. 

S. M. Bailey, Unionstown. 

W. C. Moreland, Pittsburg. 

James A. McDevitt, Pittsburg. 

V illiam B. Rodgers, Alleghany City. 
James II. Lindsay, Alleghany City. 

I. R. Harragh, Beaver. 

John McKinley, New Castle. 

Joseph Buffington, Kittawning. 
James E. Long, Brookvillc. 

Thomas Robinson, Butler. 

John I. Gordon, Mercer. 

C. M. Reed, Erie. 

Harrison Allen, Warren. 

ALTERNATES. 

David S. Elliott, Everett. 

Samuel M. Jackson, Apollo. 

Henry Buck, Reading. 

Richard S. Campion, Philadelphia. 
Joseph W. Kerr, Philadelphia. 
Edward M. Rowe, Philadelphia. 
William B. Ahern, Philadelphia. 
Thomas Smyth, Philadelphia. 

William IT. Kern, Philadelphia. 

David Wallace, Philadelphia. 

Thomas W. Gouth, Philadelphia. 
George W. Bumm, Philadelphia. 
Jacob S. Sen-ill, Darby. 

H. IT. Gilkyson, Phoenixville. 

Harvey Gratz, Ililltown. 

Mark II. Richards, Pottstown. 

George W. Ilarn, Birdsboro. 

Richard McMic-hael, Reading. 

Isaac W. Leidigh, Lancaster. 

James Collins, Quarryville. 

William S. Major, Hellertown. 

U. S. Letzerberger, Allentown. 
William Lilly, Mauch Chunk. 

Joseph Alexander, Jr., Carbondale. 
Theodore Hart, Pittston. 

Levi C. Lieb, Ashland. 

William I. Whitehouse, Pottsville. 

S. F. Barr, Harrisburg. 

Samuel I. Packer, Sunbury. 

James P. Taylor, Montrose. 

F. C. Bunnell, Tunkhannock. 

E. G. Schieffelin, Stokendalo. 

I). T. ITuckle, Dushor. 

John W. Beachy, Elk Lick. 

William ('. Smith. Bedford. 

John W. Mattern, Huntingdon. 
William C. Pomeroy, Port Royal. 





64 


PRESIDENT 

John II. Urick, Meehanicsburg. 

C. G. Beales, Gettysburg. 

J. B. McAnally, Clearfield. 

John I. Rankin, Bellefonte. 

IT. I. Brunot, Greensburg. 

I. B. Morris, Waynesburg. 

A. L. Pearson, Pittsburg. 

William Hill, Mansfield Valley. 

John Wegraw, Alleghany City. 

C. B. Shea, Alleghany City. 

Henry C. Fry, Rochester. 

James F. Scott, Pulaski. 

A. Wilson Taylor, Indiana. 

J. B. A grew, Tionesta. 

George W. Fleiger, Butler. 

H. L. Richmond, Jr., Meadville. 

N. W. Russell, Belle Valley. 

C. M. Shortt, Sugar Grove. 

RHODE ISLAND. 

DELEGATES. 

Thomas I’. Sanborn, Newport. 

Charles H. Handy, Warren. 

Thomas W. Chase, East Greenwich. 

David L. Aldrich, Hopkinton. 

Isaac M. Potter, Providence. 

Almon K. Goodwin, Pawtucket. 

William A. Pierce, Olneyville. 

Horace A. Jenckes, Woonsocket. 

ALTERNATES. 

Andrew II. Manchester, Tiverton. 

Charles A. Greene, Bristol. 

William M. Spink, Warwick. 

James M. Cross, Westerly. 

Harvey E. Wellman, Providence. 

Stafford W. Razee, Providence. 

John II. Barden, Scituate. 

James 0. Inman, Burrillville. 

SOUTH CAROLINA. 

DELEGATES. 

E. W. M. Mackey, Charleston. 

E. M. Brayton, Columbia. 

R. B. Elliott, Columbia. 

Samuel Lee, Sumter. 

D. M. McCall, Bennettsville. 

W. A. Hayne, Marion C. H. 

W. M. Taft, Charleston. 

C. C. Bowen, Charleston. 

W. M. Fine, Columbia. 

C. M. Wilder, Columbia. 

Samuel T. Pioneer, Spartanburg. 

Wilson Cook, Greenville. 

W. J. Whiffer, Beaufort. 

W. F. Meyers, Waterloo. 

ALTERNATES. 

T. E. Miller, Beaufort. 

II. Kennedy, Newberry C. II. 

C. C. McCoy, Chester. 

D. A. Straker, Orangeburg C. 11. 

II. S. Shrewsbury, Ckeraw. 

W. H. Maun, Ckeraw. 

W. II. Binnoy, <Charleston. 

E. A. Webster, Orangeburg. 


JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 

Harry Noah, Columbia. 

D. R. Phifer. 

L. Cain, Edgefield C. H. 

Fred. Nix, Jr., Blackville. 

TENNESSEE. 

DELEGATES. 

L. C. Houck, Knoxville. 

Horace H. Harrison, Nashville. 

Jacob M. Thornburg, Knoxville. 

David Nunn, Brownsville. 

R. R. Butler, Taylorville. 

Jesse L. Rogers, Tazewell. 

E. J. Sandford, Knoxville. 

J. M. Cordell, Huntsville. 

W. S. Tipton, Cleveland. 

W. T. Cate, Chattanooga. 

II. L. W. Cheatham, Springfield. 

J. S. Smith, Lebanon. 

W. II. Wisener, Shelbyville. 

W. Y. Elliott, Murfreesboro. 

S. 0. W. Brandon, Clarksville. 

W. II. Young, Nashville. 

A. M. Hughes, Sr., Columbia. 

B. A. J. Nixon, Pulaski. 

T. G. Muse, Jackson. 

E. G. Ridgeley, Huntington. 

R. M. Hall, Trenton. 

Hunt Somerville, Mason. 

Fred. H. Hunt, Memphis. 

Larkin Williams, Somerville. 

ALTERNATES. 

G. W. Levere, Knoxville. 

G. II. Bryson. 

Edwin M. Henry, Grenoble. 

A. A. Freeman, Washington, I). C. 

J. W. Brown, Rogersville. 

S. J. Couch, Morristown. 

J. C. Davis, New Market. 

J. M. Freer, Maryville. 

W. B. Hill, Sparta. 

W. A. Henderson, Chattanooga. 

John Pruett, Gallatia. 

J. N. Harding, Springfield. 

Calvin Prickett, Shelbyville. 

J. N. Ridley, Murfreesboro. 

S. Rexinger, Clarksville. 

T. A. Sykes, Nashville. 

B. Frierson, Columbia. 

N. N. Thompson, Pulaski. 

II. R. Hinkle, Lexington. 

J. T. Robinson, Huntingdon. 

JI. Ryan, Brownsville. 

S. J. Haynes. 

T. A. Hamilton, Memphis. 

Frank Lcmont, Memphis. 

TEXAS. 

DELEGATES. 

E. J. Davis, Austin. 

Webster Flanagan, Henderson. 

A. B. Norton, Dallas. 

W. II. Holland, Austin. 

George N. Dilley, Palestine. 

W illiam Chambers, Wallisville. 


JOURNAL. 

A. G. Malloy, Jefferson. 

William II. Hakes, Texana. 

C. C. Binkley, Sherman. 

I). A. Robinson, Denton. 

J. G. Tracey, Houston. 

AY. R. Chase, Waco. 

N. W. Cuney, Galveston. 

R. II. Narvin, Brenkam. 

A. Siemering, San Antonio. 

E. II. Terrill, San Antonio. 

ALTERNATES. 

Ed. Degener, San Antonio. 

William Umbdenstock, Marshall. 
Richard Allen, Houston. 

II. C. Manning, Canton. 

L. A\ T . Cooper, Crockett. 

L. M. Sublett, Beaumont. 

Alexander Lane, Marshall. 

Andrew Sands, Clarksville. 

A. R. Collins, Sherman. 

J. P. Alexander, Fort Worth. 

L. II. McKay, Richmond. 

George T. Haswell, Bryan. 

Robert Zapp, Round Top. 

J. C. Cain, Chapel Hill. 

Ridge Paschal, Laredo. 

P. G. Temple, Fredericksburg. 

VERMONT. 

DELEGATES. 

John Gregory Smith, St. Albans. 
Frederick Billings, AVoodstock. 

John AV\ Stewart, Middlebury. 

George AA r . Hooker, Brattleboro. 

L. Bart. Cross, Montpelier. 

John G. McCullough, North Bennington. 
G. G. Benedict, Burlington. 

C. S. Page, Hyde Park. 

John B. Mead, Randolph. 

Henry C. Belden, St. Johnsbury. 

ALTERNATES. 

George AA r . Hindee, Morrisville. 
AYilliam Rounds, Chester. 

George A\ r . Grandy, Vergennes. 

John C. Stearns, Bradford. 

E. J. Ormsbee, Brandon. 

Henry F. Lotkrop, Pittsford. 

J. II. Simpson, Craftsburg. 

C. AA r . King, Lunenburg. 

E. Ely Goddard, Ely. 

A. E. Rankin, St. Johnsbury. 

VIRGINIA. 

DELEGATES. 

Peter J. Carter, Richmond. 

J. W. Poindexter, Richmond. 

D. Sheffey Lewis, Danville. 

Joseph Jorgenson, Petersburg. 

John W. AValtz, Fredericksburg. 

L. R. Stewart. 

George FI. Bowden, Norfolk. 

Robert Norton, A orktown. 

O. II. Russell, Richmond. 

Josiali Crump, Richmond. 









PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


05 


W. L. Fernald, Danville. 

James D. Brady, Petersburg. 

Wm. II. Pleasants, Danville. 

II. Clay Harris, Halifax C. 11 
J. E. \Y ilson, Lynchburg. 

W. R. Watkins, Liberty. 

F. F. Ware, Staunton. 

John Donovan, Ilarrisbnrg. 
Lunsford L. Lewis, Culpeper C. II. 
William Brown. 

W. O. Austin, Marion. 

C. C. Tompkins, Salem. 

ALTERNATES. 

John T. Dezendorf, Norfolk. 
Samuel M. Yost, Staunton. 

J. H. Fives, Lynchburg. 

B. W. Iloxey, Richmond. 

E. W. Massey, Old Point. 

M. E. G. Fitch. 

E. D. Bland, City Point. 

J. B. Jones, Old Point. 

E. N. Kane. 

R. F. Robinson. 

M. R. De Moi’tie, Burkville. 

J. H. Hill, Petersburg. 

Dr. G. K. Gray, Halifax C. II. 
James AVood, Danville. 

R. E. Freeman, Lexington. 

Albert Bennett. 

S. M. Yost, Staunton. 

G. AA r . Fisher, Charlottesville. 
Joseph Waters. 

Rivan Bundy, Berryville. 

C. B. Smith, Newbern. 

John H. Davis, Big Lick. 

WEST VIRGINIA. 
DELEGATES. 

A. AY. Campbell, Wheeling. 

AAG J. Burley, Moundsville. 

S. P. McCormick, Grafton. 

John H. Riley, Ripley. 

C. D. Hubbard, Wheeling. 

A. C. Moore, Clarksburg. 

J. T. Iloke, Keyser. 

J. M. Hagans, Morgantown. 

Z. D. Ramsdall, Ceredo. 

L. A. Martin, Charlestown. 

ALTERNATES. 

Charles Keyes, Kanawha C. H. 

C. II. Shattuck, Parkersburg. 

AY. II. H. Flick, Martinsburg. 

A. G. Tibbetts, Union. 

James Archer. 

C. J. Goff, Clarksburg. 

J. C. McGrow, Kingwood. 

S. AY. Hale, Fairmont. 

Judson Spofford. 

J. H. Kuhn. 

WISCONSIN. 

DELEGATES. 

J. B. Cassoday, Janesville. 
Edward Sanderson, Milwaukee. 

9 






Thomas B. Scott, Grand Rapids. 

G. Van Steenwyk, La Crosse. 

J. Y. Quarles, Kenosha. 

Charles Palmetier, Geneva. 

A. J. Turner, Portage City. 

George E. Eryant, Madison. 

Wm. E. Carter, Platteville. 

Norman L. James, Richland Center. 

E. M. Rogers, Hartford. 

F. C. Winkler, Milwaukee. 

W. H. Hemschmeyer, Manitowoc. 

J. B. AVedge, Fon du Lac. 

Philetus Sawyer, Oshkosh. 

Levi Howland, Green Bay. 

J. M. Rusk, Yiroqua. 

F. L. Gilson, Ellsworth. 

S. AY. Hunt, Menomonee. 

Isaac Stephenson, Marinette. 

ALTERNATES. 

R. H. Baker, Racine. 

De AVitt C. Davis, Milwaukee. 
George B. Pratt, Menosha. 

Paul Lackmund, Baraboo. 

E. S. Stone, Oconomowoc. 

T. M. Nichol, Racine. 

D. E. AVelch, Baraboo. 

AY. D. Hoard, Fort Atkinson. 

A. C. Dodge, Momoe. 

J. AY. Reney, Mifflin. 

S. S. Barrey, AVest Bend. 

John Rugee, Milwaukee. 

W. F. Rambusch, Jureau. 

D. D. Trelevan, Fon du Lac. 

II. S. Sackett, Berlin. 

B. T. Rogers, Appleton. 

M. A. Thayer, Sparta. 

J. AY. DeGroff, Alma. 

C. S. Kelsey, Montello. 

A. J. Hayward. 

ARIZONA. 

DELEGATES. 

A. P. K. Saftord, New York City. 
Levi Rashford, New York. 


ALTERNATES. 

Richard C. McCormick, New York City. 
William A. Hancock, Phoenix. 


DAKOTA. 

DELEGATES. 

Porter Warner, Deadwood. 

C. T. McCoy, Ben Homme. 

ALTERNATES. 

Frank Yeit, Grand Forks. 
Alexander Hughes, Elk Point. 

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA. 
delegates. 

John F. Cook, AVashington. 
Sayles J. Bowen, AVashington. 


ALTERNATES. 

Charles B. Purvis, AVashington. 
Almon M. Clapp, AVashington. 

IDAHO. 

DELEGATES. 

George L. Shoup. 

J. AY. Brown. 


MONTANA. 

DELEGATES. 

11. N. Blake, Helena. 

R. E. Fiske, Helena. 

ALTERNATES. 

J. G. Sanders, Jefferson. 

L. Rotwitt, Canon Creek. 

NEW MEXICO. 

DELEGATES. 

AVilliam Breeden, Las Cruces. 

AVilliam L. Rynerson, Santa Ft*. 

UTAH. 

(Two lists are given from this Territory.) 
DELEGATES. 

C. AY. Bennett, Salt Lake City. 

E. A. Thomas, Ogden. 

ALTERNATES. 

E. P. Ferry, Park City. 

C. AY. Emerson, Provo. 

DELEGATES. 

J. R. McBride, Salt Lake City. 

AG McSilver. 

WASHINGTON. 

DELEGATES. 

Thomas L. Minor, AVashington. 

Thomas H. Brents, AVashington. 

ALTERNATES. 

George II. Steward, A'ancouver. 

James A. Perkins, Colfax. 

WYOMING. 

DELEGATES. 

M. C. Brown, Laramie. 

W. A. Carter, Fort Bridger. 

ALTERNATES. 

A. C. Lathrop, Bryan. 

AY. L. Ash, Rawlins. 

ELOQUENCE. 

True eloquence I ffnd to be none but the 
serious and hearty love of truth; and that, 
whoso mind soever is fully possessed with a 
fervent desire to know good things, and with 
the dearest charity to infuse knowledge of 
them into others, when such a man would 
speak, his words, like so many nimble and 
airy servitors, trip about him at command, 
and in well ordered tiles, as he would wish, 
fall aptly into their own places.— Milton. 









GG 


'RESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL 


FLORIDA. 


GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES. 

President .— Chester A. Arthur, of New 
York. 

[Until March 4, 1885.] 

CABINET. 

Secretary of State .— James G. Elaine, of 
Maine. 

Secretary of the Treasury. —Charles J. Fol- 
ger, of New York. 

Secretary of War .— Robert T. Lincoln, of 
Illinois. 

Secretary of the Navy .— William II. Hunt, 
of Louisiana. 

Secretary of the Interior. —Samuel J. Kirk¬ 
wood, of Iowa. 

Postmaster-General .— Thomas L. James, of 
New York. 

Attorney-General .— Wayne MacYeagh, of 
Pennsylvania. 

SUPREME COURT. 

Chief Justice .— Morrison R. Waite, of Ohio. 

Associate Justices. 

Samuel F. Miller, of Iowa. 

Stephen J. Field, of California. 

Joseph P. Bradley, of New Jersey. 
Ward Hunt, of New York. 

John M. Harlan, of Kentucky. 
William B. Woods, of Alabama. 
Stanley Matthews, of Ohio. 

FORTY-SEVENTH CONGRESS. 

[Expires March 4, 1883.] 

SENATE. 

President pro tern .— David Davis, of Illinois. 
Secretary pro tem .— Francis E. Shibe. 

ALABAMA. 

Term expires. 

1883. John T. Morgan, Dcm. 

1885. James L. Puerh, Pern. 

ARKANSAS. 

1883. Augustus H. Garland, Pern. 

1885. James D. Walker, Pem. 

CALIFORNIA. 

1887. John F. Miller, Pep. 

1885. James T. Farley, Pem. 

COLORADO. 

1883. Henry M. Teller, Pep. 

1885. Nathaniel P. Hill, Pep. 

CONNECTICUT. 

1887. Joseph R. Hawley, Rep. 

1885. Orville II. Platt, Rep. 

DELAWARE. 

1887. Thomas Francis Bayard, Dein. 

1883. Eli Saulsbury, Pem. 


Term expires. 

1887. Charles W. Jones, Pem. 

1885. Wilkinson Call, Pern. 

GEORGIA. 

1883. Benjamin Ilarvey Hill, Pem. 
1885. Joseph E. Brown, Pern. 

ILLINOIS. 

1883. David Davis, Indep. 

1885. John A. Logan, Rep. 

INDIANA. 

1887. Benjamin Harrison, Rep. 

1885. D. W. Yoorhees, Pern. 

IOWA. 

1883. James Wilson M’Dill, app’t’d, Pep. 
1885. William B. Allison, Rep. 

KANSAS. 

1883. Preston B. Plumb, Rep. 

1885. John James Ingalls, Rep. 

KENTUCKY. 

1883. James B. Beck, Pern. 

1885. John S. Williams, Pern. 

LOUISIANA. 

1883. W. Pitt Kellogg, Pep. 

1885. Benjamin F. Jonas, Pern. 

MAINE. 

1887. Eugene Hale, Rep. 

1883. William P. Frye, Rep. 

MARYLAND. 

1887. Arthur P. Gorman, Pern. 

1885. James B. Groome, Pem. 

MASSACHUSETTS. 

1887. Henry L. Dawes, Rep. 

1883. George F. Hoar, Rep. 

MICHIGAN. 

1887. Omar D. Conger, Pep. 

1883. Thomas W. Ferry, Rep. 

MINNESOTA. 

1887. Samuel J. R. McMillan, Rep. 

1883. William Windom, Pep. 

MISSISSIPPI. 

1887. James Z. George, Pem. 

1883. Lucius Q. C. Lamar, Pem. 

MISSOURI. 

1887. Francis Marion Cockrell, Pem. 
1885. George Graham Yest, Pem. 

NEBRASKA. 

1887. Charles II. Van Wyck, Pep. 

1883. Alvin Saunders, Pep. 


NEVADA. 

Term expires. 

1887. James G. Fair, Pem. 

1885. John P. Jones, Pep. 

NEW HAMPSHIRE. 

1883. Edward II. Rollins, Pep. 

1885. Henry W. Blair, Pep. 

NEW JERSEY. 

1887. William J. Sewell, Pep. 

1883. John Rhoderic MacPherson, Pem 

NEW YORK. 

1887. Warner Miller. Rep. 

1885. El bridge G. Lapbarn, Pep. 

NORTH CAROLINA. 

1883. Matthew W. Ransom, Pem. 

1885. Zebulon B. Vance, Pem. 

OHIO. 

1887. John Sherman, Rep. 

1885. George H. Pendleton, Pem. 

OREGON. 

1883. Lafayette Grover, Pern. 

1885. James IT. Slater, Pem. 

PENNSYLVANIA. 

1887. John I. Mitchell, Rep. 

1885. J. Donald Cameron, Rep. 

RHODE ISLAND. 

1887. Nelson W. Aldrich (app’t’d), Rep 
1883. Henry B. Anthony, Rep. 

SOUTH CAROLINA. 

1881. M. C. Butler, Pern. 

1885. Wade Hampton, Pern. 

TENNESSEE. 

1887. Howell Edmunds Jackson, Pem. 
1883. Isham G. Harris, Pem. 

TEXAS. 

1887. Samuel Ball Maxey, Pem. 

1883. Richard Coke, Pem. 

VERMONT. 

1887. George F. Edmunds, Rep. 

1885. Justin S. Morrill, Rep. 

VIRGINIA. 

1887. William Mahone, Readjuster. 
1883. John W. Johnston, Pem. 

WEST VIRGINIA. 

1887. Johnson N. Camden, Pem. 

1883. Henry G. Davis, Pern. 

WISCONSIN. 

1885. Angus Cameron, Rep. 

1887. Philetus Sawyer, Rep. 



























* 
























PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


67 


HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES. 


1. Thos. H. Herndon, Bern. 

2. Hilary A. Herbert, Bern. 

3. William C. Oates, Bern. 

4. Chas. M. Shelley, Bern. 

5. Thos. Williams, Bern. 

6. Goldsmith W. Hewitt, Bern. 

7. William Henry Forney, Bern. 

8. Joseph Wheeler, Bern. 

ARKANSAS. 

1. Poindexter Dunn, Bern. 

2. James K. Jones, Bern. 

3. Jordan E. Cravens, Bern. 

4. Thos. M. Gunter, Bern. 

CALIFORNIA. 

1. William Starke Rosecrans, Beni. 

2. Horace Francis Page, Rep. 

3. Campbell B. Berry, Bern. 

4. Romualdo Pacheco, Rep. 

COLORADO. 

James B. Belford, Rep. 

CONNECTICUT. 

1. John R. Buck, Rep. 

2. James Phelps, Bern. 

3. John Turner Wait, Rep. 

4. Frederick Miles, Rep. 

DELAWARE. 

Edward Livingston Martin, Bern. 

FLORIDA. 

1. Robert H. M. Davidson, Bern. 

2. Jesse J. Finley, Bern. 

GEORGIA. 

1. George R. Black, Bern. 

2. Henry G. Turner, Bern. 

3. Philip Cook, Bern. 

4. Hugh Buchanan, Bern. 

5. N. J. Hammond, Bern. 

6. James H. Blount, Bern. 

7. Judson C. Clements, Bern. 

8. Alexander Hamilton Stephens, Bern. 

9. Emory Speer, Bern. 

ILLINOIS. 

1. Wm. Aldrich, Rep. 

2. George R. Davis, Rep. 

3. Charles B. Farwell, Rep. 

4. John C. Sherwin, Rep. 

5. Robert M. A. Hawk, Rep. 

6. Thomas J. Henderson, Rep. 

7. William Cullen, Rep. 

8. Lewis E. Payson, Rep. 

9. J. H. Lewis, Rep. 

10. Benjamin F. Marsh, Rep. 

11. Jas. W. Singleton. Bem. 

12. Wm. M. Springer, Bern. 


Hist. 

13. Dietrich C. Smith, Rep. 

14. Joseph G. Cannon, Rep. 

15. Samuel W. Moulton, Bem. 

16. William A. J. Sparks, Bern. 

17. Wm. R. Morrison, Bem. 

18. John R. Thomas, Rep. 

19. Richard W. Townshend, Bern. 

INDIANA. 

1. William Heilman, Rep. 

2. Thomas R. Cobb, Bem. 

3. S. M. Stockslager, Bern. 

4. William S. Holman, Bem. 

5. C. C. Matson, Bern. 

6. Thomas M. Browne, Rep. 

7. S. J. Peele, Rep. 

8. R. B. F. Pierce, Rep. 

9. Godlove S. Orth, Rep. 

10. Mark L. De Motto, Rep. 

11. George IV. Steele, Rep. 

12. Walpole G. Colerick, Bern. 

13. William II. Calkins, Rep. 

IOWA. 

1. Moses M. McCoid, Rep. 

2. Sewell S. Farwell, Rep. 

3. Thomas UpdegrafF, Rep. 

4. Nathaniel C. Deering, Rep. 

5. William G. Thompson, Rep. 

6. Madison E. Cutts, Rep. 

7. John A. Kasson, Rep. 

8. W. P. Hepburn, Rep. 

9. Cyrus Clay Carpenter, Rep. 

KANSAS. 

1. John A. Anderson, Rep. 

2. Dudley C. Haskell, Rep. 

3. Thomas Ryan, Rep. 

KENTUCKY. 

1. Oscar Turner, Bem. 

2. James A. McKenzie, Bern. 

3. John William Caldwell, Bern. 

4. J. Proctor Knott, Bern. 

5. Albert S. Willis, Bem. 

6. John Griffin Carlyle, Bern. 

7. Joseph C. S. Blackburn, Bern. 

8. Philip B. Thompson, Jr., Bem. 

9. John D. White, Rep. 

10. Elijah Conner Phistcr, Bern. 

LOUISIANA. 

1. Randall Lee Gibson, Bem. 

2. E. John Ellis, Bern. 

3. C. B. Darrell, Rep. 

4. W. C. Blanchard, Bern. 

5. J. Floyd King, Bern. 

6. Edward White Robertson, Bern. 

MAINE. 

1. Thomas B. Reed, Rep. 

2. -Dingley, Rep. 

3. Stephen D. Lindsey, Rep. 

4. George W. Ladd, Bern, and Greenback. 

5. Thompson IJ. Murch, Greenback. 


MARYLAND. 

Diet. 

1. G. W. Covington, Bem. 

2. J. Fred. C. Talbot, Bern. 

3. F. S. Hoblitzell, Bem. 

4. Robert FT. McLane, Bem. 

5. A. G. Chapman, Bem. 

6. Milton G. Urner, Rep. 

MASSACHUSETTS. 

1. William Wallace Crapo, Rep. 

2. Benjamin IV. Harris, Rep. 

3. A. A. Rauney, Rep. 

4. Leopold Morse, Bern. 

5. Selwyn Zadock Bowman, Rep. 

6. Eben F. Stone, Rep. 

7. William A. Russell, Rep. 

8. John IV. Chandler, Rep. 

9. William IV. Rice, Rep. 

10. Amasa Norcross, Rep. 

11. George D. Robinson, Rep. 

MICHIGAN. 

1. Henry IV. Lord, Rep. 

2. Edwin Willits, Rep. 

3. Edward S. Lacey, Rep. 

4. Julius C. Burrows, Rep. 

5. George IV. Webber, Rep. 

6. 0. L. Spaulding, Rep. 

7. John T. Rich, Rep. 

8. Roswell G. Horr, Rep. 

9. Jay A. Hubbell, Rep. 

MINNESOTA. 

1. Mark H. Dunnell, Rep. 

2. Horace B. Strait, Rep. 

3. William Drew Washburn, Rep. 

MISSISSIPPI. 

1. Henry Lowndes Muldrow, Bern. 

2. Van II. Manning, Bern. 

3. Hernando De Soto Money, Bern. 

4. Otho R. Singleton, Bem. 

5. Chas. E. Hooker, Bem. 

6. Jas. Ronald Chalmers, Bern. 

MISSOURI. 

1. Martin Linn Clardy, Bem. 

2. Thomas Allen, Bern. 

3. Richard Graham Frost, Bem. 

4. Lowndes II. Davis, Bern. 

5. Richard Parks Bland, Bem. 

6. Ira S. Hazeltine, Ind. and Greenback. 

7. T. M. Rice, Greenback-Rep. 

8. R. T. Tan Horne, Rep. 

9. Nicholas Ford, Ind. and National. 

10. J. II. Burrows, Greenback-Rep. 

11. .1. B. Clark, Jr., Greenback-Hep. 

12. Wm. Henry Hatch, Bem. 

13. Aylett Hawes Buckner, Bern. 

NEBRASKA. 

1. Edward K. Valentine, Rep. 

2. Thomas J. Majors, Rep., contingent or 

additional member. 













68 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


NEVADA. 

George W. Cassidy, Bern. 

NEW HAMPSHIRE. 

Diet. 

1. Joshua G. Hall, Rep. 

2. James F. Briggs, Rep. 

3. Ossian Ray, Rep. 

NEW JERSEY. 

1. George M. Robeson, Rep. 

2. J. Hart Brewer, Rep. 

3. Miles Ross, Bern. 

4. H. S. Harris, Bern. 

5. John Hill, Rep. 

6. Phineas Jones, Rep. 

7. Augustus A. Hardenbergh, Bern. 

NEW YORK. 

1. Perry Belmont, Bern. 

2. ¥m. E. Robinson, Bern. 

3. J. Hyatt Smith, Lid. and Greenback. 

4. Archibald N. Bliss, Bern. 

5. Benjamin Wood, Bern. 

6. Samuel Sullivan Cox, Bern. 

7. P. Heniy Dugro, Bern. 

8. Anson G. McCook, Rep. 

9. Vacant. 

10. Abram Stevens Hewitt, Bern. 

11. Vacant. 

12. Waldo Hutchings, Bern. 

13. John II. Ketcham, Rep. 

14. Lewis Beach, Bern. 

15. Thomas Cornell, Rep. 

16. Michael V. Nolan, Bern. 

17. Walter A. Wood, Rep. 

18. John Hammond, Rep. 

19. A. X. Parker, Rep. 

20. George West, Rep. 

21. Ferris Jacobs, Jr., Rep. 

22. Vacant. 

23. Cyrus D. Prescott, Rep. 

24. Joseph Mason, Rep. 

25. Frank Hiscock, Rep. 

26. John II. Camp, Rep. 

27. Vacant. 

28. Jeremiah W. Dwight, Rep. 

29. David P. Richardson, Rep. 

30. John Van Voorhis, Rep. 

31. Richard Crowley, Rep. 

32. Jonathan Scoville, Bern. 

33. H. Van Aernam, Rep. 

NORTH CAROLINA. 

1. L. C. Latham, Bern. 

2. Orlando Hubbs, Bern. 

3. J. W. Shackleford, Bern. 

4. William R. Cox, Bern. 

5. Alfred Moore Scales, Dem. 

6. Clement Doud, Bern. 

7. Robert Franklin Armfield, Bern. 

8. Robert Brank Vance, Bern. 


1. Benjamin Butterworth, Rep. 

2. Thomas L. Young, Rep. 

3. Henry L. Morey, Rep. 

4. Emanuel Shultz, Rep. 

5. Benj. Le Fevere, Bern. 

6. James M. Ritchie, Rep. 

7. John P. Leedom, Bern. 

8. Joseph Warren Keifer, Rep. 

9. James S. Robinson, Rep. 

10. John B. Rice, Rep. 

11. Henry S. Neal, Rep. 

12. George L. Converse, Bern. 

13. Gibson Atherton, Bern. 

14. George W. Geddes, Bern. 

15. Rufus R. Dawes, Rep. 

16. Jonathan T. Updegraff, Rep. 

17. Win. McKinley, Jr., Rep. 

18. A. S. McClure, Rep. 

19. Ezra B. Taylor, Rep. 

20. Amos Townsend, Rep. 

OREGON. 

M. C. George, Rep. 


PENNSYLVANIA. 

1. Henry II. Bingham, Rep. 

2. Charles O’Neill, Rep. 

3. Samuel J. Randall, Bern. 

4. Wm. D. Kelley, Rep. 

5. Alfred C. Ilarmer, Rep. 

6. William Ward, Rep. 

7. Wm. Godshalk, Rep. 

8. Daniel Ermentrout, Bern. 

9. A. Herr Smith, Rep. 

10. William Mutchler, Bern. 

11. Robert Klotz, Bern. 

12. Joseph A. Scranton, Rep. 

13. Charles N. Brumm, Rep. and Greenb. 

14. Samuel F. Barr, Rep. 

15. Cornelius C. Jadwin, Rep. 

16. Robert J. C. Walker, Rep. 

17. Jacob M. Campbell, Rep. 

18. Horatio G. Fisher, Rep. 

19. Frank E. Beltzhoover, Bern. 

20. Andrew G. Curtin, Bern. 

21. Morgan R. Wise, Bern. 

22. Russell Errett, Rep. 

23. Thos. M. Bayne, Rep. 

24. William S. Shallenbergcr, Rep. 

25. James Mosgrove, Bern, and Greenb. 

26. Samuel H. Miller, Rep. 

27. Lewis F. Watson, Rep. 

RHODE ISLAND. 

1. Vacant. 

2. Jonathan Chace, Rep. 

SOUTH CAROLINA. 

1. John S. Richardson, Bern. 

2. Samuel Dibble, Bern. 

3. D. Wyatt Aiken, Bern. 

4. John 11. Evans, Bern. 

5. George D. Tillman, Bern. 


TENNESSEE. 

Dist. 

1. A. H. Pettibone, Rep. 

2. Leonidas C. Houk, Rep. 

3. George G. Dibrell, Bern. 

4. Benton McMillan, Bern. 

5. Richard Warner, Bern. 

6. John F. House, Bern. 

7. Washington Curran Whitthorne, Dem. 

8. John D. C. Atkins, Bern. 

9. Charles Bryson Simonton, Bern. 

10. William R. Moore, Rep. 

TEXAS. 

1. John H. Reagan, Bern. 

2. David B. Culberson, Bern. 

3. Olin Welborn, Bern. 

4. Roger Q. Mills, Bern. 

5. G. W. Jones, Greenback. 

6. Columbus Upson, Bern. 

VERMONT. 

1. Charles H. Joyce, Rep. 

2. James M. Tyler, Rep. 

3. William W. Grout, Rep. 

VIRGINIA. 

1. George Garrison, Bern. 

2. John F. Dazendorf, Rep. 

3. George D. Wise, Bern. 

4. Joseph Jorgenson, Rep. 

5. George C. Cabell, Bern. 

6. John Randolph Tucker, Bern. 

7. John Paul, Readjuster. 

8. John S. Barbour, Bern. 

9. Abram Fulkerson, Readjuster. 

WEST VIRGINIA. 

1. Benjamin Wilson, Bern. 

2. John Blair Iloge, Bern. 

3. John E. Kenna, Bern. 

WISCONSIN. 

1. Charles G. Williams, Rep. 

2. Lucien B. Caswell, Rep. 

3. George C. Hazelton, Rep. 

4. Peter Victor Deuster, Bern. 

5. Edward S. Bragg, Bern. 

6. Richard Guenther, Rep. 

7. Herman L. Humphrey, Rep. 

8. Thaddeus C. Pound, Rep. 

TERRITORIAL DELEGATES. 

Arizona—G. H. Ouray, Bern. 

Dakota—R. F. Pettigrew, Rep. 

Idaho—George Ainslie, Bern. 

Montana—Martin Maginnis, Bern. 

New Mexico—T. Luna, Rep. 

Utah—George Q. Cannon, Bern. 
Washington—Thomas J. Brents, Rep. 
Wyoming—R. E. Post, Bern. 















PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


GOVERNORS OF STATES. 

VIRGINIA. 

FREDERICK W. M. HOLLIDAY. 

Term expires 1882. 

Settled by the English in 1607,—one of 
the original thirteen States. It is called the 
“ Old Dominion” on account of being first 
settled by the English colonists. It extends 
from the Atlantic Ocean to the Alleghany 
Mountains. Many eminent men have been 
born in Virginia, and live Presidents of the 
United States have come from this State. 
She was one of the leading States durum the 
Revolution. In the year 1781 the siege and 
surrender of Yorktown took place, when 
Cornwallis and his army were made pris¬ 
oners. Richmond, on the James River, is the 
capital. Population in 1860 was 1,596,318; 
decreased in 1880 to 1,512,203. 

NEW YORK. 

ALONZO B. CORNELL. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled at Manhattan, by the Dutch, in 
1614, and called New Amsterdam. It is 
noted for its extensive commerce and great 
enterprise. Wheat is the great staple. The 
mineral springs of Saratoga and Ballston are 
valuable for their healing properties. The 
Falls of Niagara, one of the wonders of the 
world, are in the Niagara River, partly in 
this State and partly in Canada. New York ; 
is one of*tlie original thirteen States, and 
was, for the greater part of the Revolu¬ 
tionary war, the theatre of active hostilities. 
The capital is Albany, on the Hudson. Pop¬ 
ulation in 1860 was 3,880,735; increased in 
1880 to 5,083,173. 

MASSACHUSETTS. 

JOHN D. LONG. 

Term expires 1882. 

Settled at Plymouth, 1620. Is the most 
densely settled part of New England, and 
distinguished for its enterprise. The colo¬ 
nists early paid attention to education, and 
in 1638 Harvard College was endowed by 
John Harvard with three thousand dollars. 
In 1692 witchcraft broke out in the town of 
Salem, and during this delusion hundreds 
were imprisoned, tortured, and executed. 
The war of the Revolution commenced in 
this State in 1774. The Bunker Hill Monu¬ 
ment is 220 feet high. Boston, the capital, 
is on the Massachusetts Bay. This is one 
of the original thirteen States. 

NEW HAMPSHIRE. 

CHARLES II. BELL. 

Term expires June, 1883. 

Settled by the English in 1623,—one of the 
original thirteen States. It is called the 
Switzerland of America, and has only eigh¬ 


teen miles of sea-coast. The White Moun¬ 
tains in this State have many lofty peaks, 
and during the summer months travellers 
climb these summits to see the sublime sce¬ 
nery. New Hampshire is also called the 
Granite State, from the great quantities of 
granite found here. This State suffered 
much during the blood} 7 French and Indian 
wars. Population in 1860 was 326,037; in¬ 
creased in 1880 to 347,784. 

NEW JERSEY. 

GEORGE C. LUDLOW. 

Term expires January, 1885. 

Settled by the Dutch in 1624; is one of 
the original thirteen States, and bore its full 
share in the perils of the Revolution. It lias 
extensive manufactures of cotton and woollen 
goods and iron. Princeton is the seat of the 
College of New Jersey and of a Theological 
Seminary. The battle of Monmouth was 
fought in 1778, and is noted for the victory 
gained by Washington over the British. 
Population in 1860 was 672,035; increased 
in 1880 to 1,130,892. 

DELAWARE. 

JOHN W. HALL. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled at Cape Ilenlopen, in 1627, by the 
Swedes and Finns. This State is favorable 
for raising large crops of wheat and corn. 
Delaware was little disturbed during the 
wars which troubled this country, until the 
Revolution, when her troops were foremost 
in every fight. The Delaware Breakwater, 
near Lewes, was built by the government as 
a shelter for shipping from storms. Popula¬ 
tion in 1860 was 112,216; increased in 1880 
to 146,654. 

CONNECTICUT. 

HOBART B. BIGELOW. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled by the Dutch, in 1633, at Hartford. 
It is noted for the excellence of its literary 
institutions. In 1700 Yale College was 
founded by a party of clergymen. It took 
its name from Elihu Yale, who made several 
donations to it. It has extensive manufac¬ 
tories, and is one of the original thirteen 
States. Population in 1860 was 460,147; 
increased in 1880 to 622,683. 

MARYLAND. 

WILLIAM T. HAMILTON. 

Term expires January, 1884. 

Settled by the French in 1634. One of the 
original thirteen States. Baltimore, 200 miles 
from the sea, is one of the largest tobacco 
markets in the world. The Washington 
Monument in this city is a Doric column sur¬ 
mounted by a colossal statue of Washington 
sixteen feet high. Fort McHenry, a short 
distance below Baltimore, was bombarded by 


69 


a British fleet in 1814, but the enemy was 
forced to retire. In the State-House at An¬ 
napolis General Washington resigned his 
commission at the close of the Revolution. 
Population in 1860 was 687,049; increased 
in 1880 to 935,139. 

RHODE ISLAND. 

ALFRED II. LITTLEFIELD. 

Term expires May, 1882. 

Settled by the English in 1636. One of the 
original thirteen States. It is the smallest 
State in the Union, and the first that en¬ 
gaged in cotton manufacture. The first cot¬ 
ton-mill erected in the United States was 
built here in 1790. In 1730 Brown Univer¬ 
sity was founded by Nicholas Brown, who 
gave the institution five thousand dollars. 
Population in 1860 was 174,620; increased 
in 1880 to 276,528. 

NORTH CAROLINA. 

THOMAS J. JARVIS. 

Term expires December, 1884. 

Settled at Albemarle, by the English, in 
1663. One of the original thirteen States. 
It has vast mineral resources; iron, copper, 
lead, gold, coal abound. In this State Amer¬ 
ican independence was proclaimed more than 
a year before the Declaration of July 4, 1776. 
Population in I860 was 992,622; increased 
in 1880 to 1,400,000. 

SOUTH CAROLINA. 

JOHNSON HAGOOD. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled by the English in 1670. One of 
the original thirteen States. Cotton and 
rice are its great staples. Many of the most 
important incidents of the Revolution oc¬ 
curred in this State. Columbia, the capital, 
was for a time in possession of the enemy; 
and the battles of Camden, Cowpens, King's 
Mountain, and Eutaw Springs were fought 
in this State. Population in 1860 was 703.708; 
increased in 1880 to 995,706. 

PENNSYLVANIA. 

HENRY M. HOYT. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled at Philadelphia, by William Penn, 
in 1632. One of the original thirteen States. 

It has great mineral resources and vast man¬ 
ufactures. This State was conspicuous in 
the war of the Revolution, and it was in her 
chief city, Philadelphia, that glorious declara¬ 
tion was made which formed a new era in 
the history of the world. This State is cele¬ 
brated for its literary and scientific institu¬ 
tions, especially of medical science. Popula¬ 
tion in 1860 was 2,906,210 ; increased in 1880 
to 4,282,738. 






70 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


GEORGIA. 

ALFRED H.'COLQUITT. 

Term expires January, 1885. 

Settled at Savannah, by the English, in 
1733. One of the original thirteen States. 
The islands on the coast of Georgia produce 
the famous sea-island cotton, which grows 
nowhere else. It is very valuable for its 
great length of fibre. This State suffered 
much during the struggle of the Revolution. 
The town of Savannah was held by the Brit¬ 
ish from 1778 to 1783. Population in 1860 
was 1,057,280; increased in 1880 to 1,538,983. 


FLORIDA. 


WILLIAM D. BLOXHAM. 

Term expires January, 1885. 

Settled at St. Augustine, in 1565, by the 
Spanish. The population in 1861 was 
140,425; it was admitted into the Union in 
1845. It has a great extent of sea-coast. St. 
Augustine, on Matanzas Bay 7 , is the oldest 
town in the United States, and on account of 
its mild, equable climate, is a favorite resort 
for invalids. This is a great cotton-producing 
country, and immense crops of fruit arc ex¬ 
ported. Population increased in 1880 to 
266,566. 

MAINE. 


HARRIS M. PLAISTED. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled by the English, at Bristol, in 1625. 
Admitted into the Union in 1820. Popula¬ 
tion in 1860, 628,270. The northern part 
of this State is covered with vast forests, and 
the people are extensively employed in ship¬ 
building, and exporting lumber and fish, the 
fisheries being very profitable. Bangor, at 
the head of Penobscot River, is the largest 
lumber market in the world. Population in 
1880, 648,945. 

WISCONSIN. 

WILLIAM E. SMITH. 

Term expires January, 1882. 

Settled by the French in 1669. Admitted 
into the Union in 1848. In 1860 the popu¬ 
lation was 775,881. It has vast extent of 
prairie and timber lands, and no mountains. 
It has the greatest extent of lake-coast of 
any State. Milwaukee, on Lake Michigan 

• o J I 

is one of the largest grain markets in the 
world. Population increased in 1880 to 
1,315,386. 

MICHIGAN. 

DAVID H. JEROME. 


Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled by the French, at Detroit, in 1670. 
Admitted into the Union in 1837. Popula¬ 
tion in 1860, 749,113. It has the richest 
copper-mines in the world. Perry’s victory, 
in 1813, was gained on Lake Erie, near this 
State. The southern parts produce large 
crops of wheat and corn. The population, 
in 1880, had increased to 1,634,096. 


ARKANSAS. 

THOMAS J. CHURCHILL. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled by the French, in 1685, at Arkansas 
Post. Admitted into the Union in 1836. 
This State has many large navigable streams, 
giving it great internal commercial advan- 
tage. Cotton and tobacco are the main 

u 

products. South of the capital, Little Rock, 
there are many medicinal hot springs. The 
population in 1860 was 435,450; in 1880 it 
was 802,504. 

TEXAS. 

ORAN M. ROBERTS. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled by the Spanish, in 1690, at St. An¬ 
tonio de Bexar. Admitted into the Union 
in 1845. It has vast prairies, and some rich 
timber tracts, and is one of the greatest 
grazing countries in the world. In San 
Antonio, the oldest town in the State, is the 
Alamo fortress, so famous in the history of 
Texan independence, where 150 Texans de¬ 
fended themselves for eleven days against 
4000 Mexicans. In 1860 the population 
was 604,215; in 1880 it was 1,597,509. 

INDIANA. 

ALBERT G. PORTER. 

Term expires January, 1885. 

Settled by the French, in 1690, at Vin¬ 
cennes. Admitted into the Union in 1816. 
The battle of Tippecanoe was fought here, 
in which the Indians were defeated by 
General Harrison, in 1811. This State pro¬ 
duces immense crops of corn, and has exten¬ 
sive railroads. The population in 1860 was 
1,350,428; in 1880 it was 1,978,358. 

LOUISIANA. 

LOUIS A. WILTZ. 

Term expires January, 1884. 

Settled in 1699, at Iberville, by the French. 
Admitted into the Union in 1812. A large 
portion of this State is protected by levees. 
Its great staple is sugar, of which was pro¬ 
duced in one year 298,000,000 pounds. Here 
General Jackson defeated the British, Jan¬ 
uary 8, 1815. Population in 1860 was 
708,002 ; in 1880, 940,263. 


ALABAMA. 

RUFUS W. COBB. 

Term expires November, 1882. 

Settled by the French, at Mobile, in 1711. 
Admitted into the Union in 1819. Corn and 
tobacco are raised, but cotton is the great 
staple. In one year 998,000 bales were 
raised. It has many navigable rivers and 
great extent oi railroad, and iron and coal 
in abundance. Mobile is its largest city and 
a gieat cattle market. Its population in 
1860 was 964,301; it increased in 1880 to 
1,262,344. 


MISSISSIPPI. 

JOHN M. STONE. 

Term expires January, 1882. 

Settled by the French, at Natchez, in 1710. 
Admitted into the Union in 1817. This Stale 
has very little Gulf coast, but has 300 miles 
of coast on the Mississippi River. Cotton is 
the great staple, and in one year 1,196,000 
bales were produced. Natchez is built on 
a bluff 150 feet above the river. In I860 
the population was 791,305, but had in¬ 
creased in 1880 to 1,133,899. 

ILLINOIS. 

SHELBY M. CULLOM. 

Term expires January, 1885. 

Settled by the French, at Kaskaskia, in 
1720. Admitted into the Union in 1818. 
The Mississippi River bounds it on the west 
for 500 miles. Chicago, its largest city, is 
the centre of the great trade of the west. 
Its business in grain and lumber is enor¬ 
mous. The population in 1860 was 1.711.951; 
had increased in 1880 to 3,078,636. 

VERMONT. 

ROSWELL FARNHAM. 

Term expires October, 1882! 

Settled at Fort Dummer, in 1725, by emi¬ 
grants from Massachusetts. During the 

I _ ® 

Revolution the inhabitants acted a noble 
part, and the name of “ Green#Mountain 
Boy” has been regarded ever since as a title 
of renown. Bennington is celebrated for the 
victory gained by General Stark over the 
Hessians in 1777. The population in 1860 
was 315,198; but in 1880 had increased to 
332,786. 

TENNESSEE. 

ALVIN HAWKINS. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled by emigrants from North Carolina 
in 1757, at Fort Loudon. This State raises 
immense crops of cotton and tobacco^ Nash¬ 
ville, on the Cumberland, and Memphis, on 
the Mississippi, are the principal cities. 
The population in 1860 was 1,109,801, but 
in 1880 had increased to 1,542,463. 

MISSOURI. . 

THOMAS T. CRITTENDEN. 

Term expires January, 1885. 

Settled by the French at St. Louis, in 
1764. Admitted into the Union in ISM. 
The lead region of this State covers an area 
of 3000 square miles. Iron Mountain and 
Pilot Knob are masses of nearly pure iron, 
enough to supply the world for ages. R 18 
both a great grazing and agricultural State. 
The population in 1860 was 1 , 132 , 012 , but 
had increased in 1880 to 2,169,091. 










p v i iy2BEiSoisliEardMSi If 




















































preside: 

CALIFORNIA. 

GEORGE C. PERKINS. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled by the Spanish, at San Diego, in 
1769. Admitted into the Union in 1850. 
It has 800 miles of sea-coast and the 
finest bays in the world. San Francisco is 
the great commercial mart of the west, and 
ships from all nations stop here. Los An¬ 
geles, or “ City of the Angels,” derives its 
name from its delightful climate and beauti¬ 
ful country. The population in 1860 was 
379,994, but had increased in 1880 to 861,686. 

KENTUCKY. 

LUKE P. BLACKBURN. 

Term expires September, 1883. 

Settled by Daniel Boone, in 1775, at Boons- 
borough. Admitted into the Union in 1792. 
The Mammoth Cave, near Green River, in 
this State, is one of the most wonderful in 
the world: it has been explored for many 
miles. In early times the people suffered 
terribly from Indian hostilities. This is a 
fine grazing country and raises horses re¬ 
markable for beauty and swiftness. The 
population in 1860 was 1,155,684, but in 
1880 had increased to 1,648,599. 

OHIO. 

CHARLES FOSTER. 

Term expires January, 1882. 

Settled at Marietta, in 1788, by emigrants 
from the Eastern States. Admitted into the 
Union in 1802. This State has great rail¬ 
road facilities. Is a fine grazing country. 
Wine and cheese are largely made. It has 
iron and coal in abundance and salt springs. 
Cincinnati is the greatest pork market in 
the world. The population in 1860 was 
2,330,511, but had increased in 1880 to 
3,197,794. 

OREGON. 

WILLIAM WALLACE THAYER. 

Term expires June, 1882. 

Settled at Astoria by emigrants from the 
Eastern States. Admitted into the Union 
in 1859. It is very mountainous. Mt. Ilood, 
13,000 feet, and Mt. Jefferson, 11,000 feet 
high, are remarkable. Gigantic forest pines 
grow to the height of 300 feet. Vast quan¬ 
tities of lumber are sent to the Sandwich 
Islands. In 1860 the population was 52,465, 
but had increased in 1880 to 174,767. 

IOWA. 

JOHN H. GEAR. 

Term expires January, 1882. 

Settled at Burlington, by emigrants from 
the Eastern States, in 1833. Admitted into 
the Union in 1845. It has vast prairie lands. 
Sheep are raised, and the wool is of fine 


T JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 

qualify, there are very rich lead-mines, and 
coal and iron are abundant. The soil is re¬ 
markable for fertility, and immense crops 
are raised. In I860 the population was 
674,913, but in 1880 had increased to 1,624,- 
463. 

MINNESOTA. 

JOHN S. PILLSBURY. 

Term expires January, 1882. 

Settled at St. Paul, by emigrants from the 
Eastern States, in 1846. Was admitted into 
the Union in 1858. It is principally large 
prairie lands, though there are tracts of tim¬ 
ber. A\ bite pine lumber is shipped down 
the St. Croix and Mississippi Rivers in im¬ 
mense rafts. The population in 1860 was 
172,023, but had increased in 1880 to 780,807. 

KANSAS. 

JOHN P. ST. JOHN. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled at Topeka, by emigrants from the 
Eastern States, in 1850. Admitted into the 
Union in 1861. There are no mountains in 
Kansas,—it is one vast prairie. It has the 
richest soil in the world, and is suited for 
agriculture or grazing; immense herds of 
cattle are raised. The population in 1860 
was 107,206, but had increased in 1880 to 
995,335. 

WEST VIRGINIA. 

JACOB B. JACKSON. 

Term expires March, 1885. 

Organized as a separate State in 1863. 
Is a part of the Old Dominion, but is sepa¬ 
rated from it by long chains of mountains. 
The land is adapted to the raising of wheat 
and tobacco. On the Kanawha River are the 
salt springs from which are exported large 
quantities of salt. The population in 1880 
had increased to 618,193. 

NEVADA. 

JOHN H. KINCAID. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled by emigrants from the Eastern 
States. Admitted into the Union in 1864. 
This State has immense silver-mines, but a 
great portion of it is an almost desert region, 
being included in the Great Interior Basin. 
The few rivers in the State flow into salt 
lakes, which have no visible outlet. The 
population in 1860 was 6857, but had in¬ 
creased in 1880 to 62,265. 

NEBRASKA. 

ALBINUS NANCE. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Settled by emigrants from the Eastern 
States. Admitted into the Union in 1867. 
This State has an area of 76,000 square 
miles. It seems to bo an immense prairie. 


JOURNAL. 7i 

The climate is mild, and the eastern part 
of the State very productive. Omaha, on 
the Missouri River, is the capital. The pop¬ 
ulation in 1860 was 28,841. but had increased 
in 1880 to 452,432. 

COLORADO. 

FREDERICK W. PITKIN. 

Term expires January, 1883. 

Was admitted into the Union in 1876. 
It contains an area of 105,000 square miles. 
This State is traversed from north to south 
by the Rocky Mountains. There are many 
beautiful valleys and lofty peaks. The cli¬ 
mate is good for invalids, and hundreds go 
there in search of health. There ai-e im¬ 
mense gold-mines in the mountains. The 
population in 1860 was 34,277, but had 
increased in 1880 to 194,649. 


AMERICAN PROVINCIALISM. 

Our eminent and welcome guest, the pro¬ 
prietor of the London Times, has availed 
himself of that institution of American jour- 
| nalism, the “ interview,” to pronounce the 
American press “ provincial.” Being asked 
to define the main difference between the 
American and the English press, he said, 
“The American press is more provincial. 

; You see, you have no foreign relations worth 
i speaking of, and your interests are more 
local.” 

There are probably not more than two 
errors in this otherwise exceedingly frank 
and succinct statement. One error is in the 
i premise; the other is in the conclusion. In 
no large and true sense can England be said 
! to have more foreign relations than America. 
America is populated from all foreign 
countries. It has a vast and indefinitely 
j growing commerce with not merely England 
but many other countries. It is true that 
the United States, by occasionally shaking 
the warning finger of the Monroe doctrine, 
is able to keep its esteemed foreign relations 
from becoming disagreeabl} T close. Yet it 
cannot be fairly said that this country has 
no foreign relations, merely because it 
chooses to keep them in their proper place. 

On the other hand, the press of the United 
States at least is not, as a matter of fact, 
provincial. It gives to European affairs in 
! general as much space and as much enter- 
prise, if not always as much scholarship, as 
the British press. It gives to British affairs 
in particular columns and pages where the 
British press gives to this continent para¬ 
graphs, while there is no room for compari¬ 
son between the general familiarity of 
American newspaper readers with British 
politics and the insular, not to say “ provin¬ 
cial,” state of the British popular mind con¬ 
cerning American geography and politics.— 
New York Evening Telegram. 




72 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


FOREIGN LEGATIONS IN THE UNITED STATES. 

ARGENTINE REPUBLIC. 

Sefior Don Manuel Rafael Garcia, Envoy 
Extraordinary and Minister Plenipoten¬ 
tiary. 

Sefior Don Julio Carrie, Secretary of Lega¬ 
tion and Charge d’Affaires ad interim. 

AUSTRIA-HUNGARY. 

Baron Ernst Mayr, Envoy Extraordinary 
and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

Count Lippe-Weissenfeld, Councillor of Le¬ 
gation and Charge d’Affaires ad interim. 

BELGIUM. 

Baron A. d’Anethan, Councillor of Legation 
and Charge d’Affaires ad interim. 

BOLIVIA. 

Sefior Don Ladislao Cabrera, Envoy Extra¬ 
ordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

Doctor Apolinar Aramayo, Secretary of Le¬ 
gation. 

BRAZIL. 

Councillor A. P. de Carvalho Borges, Envoy 
Extraordinary and Minister Plenipoten¬ 
tiary. 

Senhor Dom Benjamin Franklin Torreao de 
Barros, Secretary of Legation and Charge 
d’Affaires ad interim. 

Senhor Dom ITenrique de Miranda, Attache. 

CHILI. 

Sefior Don Marcial Martinez, Envoy Extra¬ 
ordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

Sefior Don Federico Pinto, First Secretary 
of Legation. 

Senor Don Jose Bernales, Second Secretary 
of Legation. 

CHINA. 

Chen Lan Pin, Envoy Extraordinary and 
Minister Plenipotentiary. 

Mr. Yung Wing, Assistant Envoy Extra¬ 
ordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

Chen Song Liang, Secretary of Legation. 

Tseng Yin Nan, Secretary of Legation. 

Mr. D. W. Bartlett, Secretary of Legation. 

Tsai Sih Yung, Interpreter and Translator. 

Chang Sze Shun, Interpreter and Translator. 

IIo Slien Chee, Interpreter and Translator. 

Lu Siang, Interpreter and Translator. 

Chen Moo, Attache. 

Yen Sze Chee, Attache. 

Tsu Sing Choo, Attache. 

Lee Ta Lun, Attache. 

COLOMBIA. 

Sefior General Ramon Santo Domingo Vila, 
Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Pleni¬ 
potentiary. 

Senor Don Julio E. Perez, Secretary of Le¬ 
gation. 

Sefior Don Wenceslao Ibanez M., Attache. 

Sefior Don Pedro Pardo R., Attache. 


COSTA RICA. 

Sefior Don Manuel M. Peralta, Minister 
Resident. 

DENMARK. 

Mr. Carl Steen Andersen de Bille, Charge 
d’Affaires and Consul General. 

Mr. Henri M. Braem, Charge d’Affaires ad 
interim. 

FRANCE. 

Mr. Maxime On trey, Envoy Extraordinary 
and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

M. de Geofroy, Charge d’Affaires ad interim. 

Mr.-, First Secretary of Lega¬ 

tion. 

Mr. Francis de Pressensse, Second Secretary. 

Mr. Philippe Berard, Third Secretary. 

Mr. Grimaud de Caux, Chancellor. 

GERMAN EMPIRE. 

Mr. Kurd von Schlozer, Envoy Extraordi¬ 
nary and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

Count Henry von Beust, Secretary of Lega¬ 
tion and Charge d’Affaires ad interim. 

Mr. P. W. Biiddecke, Chancellor of Legation. 

GREAT BRITAIN. 

The Right Honorable Sir Edward Thornton, 
K.C.B., Envoy Extraordinary and Minister 
Plenipotentiary. 

Victor Arthur Wellington Drummond, Esq., 
Secretary of Legation. 

Captain William Arthur, R.N., Naval At¬ 
tache. 

Charles Fox Frederick Adam, Esq., Second 
Secretary. 

Lord George F. Montagu, Third Secretary. 

Maurice de Bunsen, Esq., Third Secretary. 

Edward Thornton, Esq., Attache. 

GAUTEMALA. 

Sefior Don Arturo Ubico, Envoy Extraordi¬ 
nary and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

HAWAII. 

Mr. Elisha II. Allen, Envoy Extraordinary 
and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

HAYTI. 

Mr. Stephen Preston, Envoy Extraordinary 
and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

Mr. Charles A. Preston, Secretary of Lega¬ 
tion. 

ITALY. 

Prince de Camporeale, First Secretary of 
Legation and Charge d’Affaires ad interim. 

JAPAN. 

Jushie Yoshida Kiyonari, Envoy Extraordi¬ 
nary and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

Shorokui Yoshida Djiro, Secretary of Lega¬ 
tion. 

Mr. Amano Koziro, Attache. 

Mr. Takahira Kogoro, Attache. 

Mr. Ogura Jiro, Attache. 

Mr. Tanaka Akira, Attache. 

Mr. Ilashiguchi Naoyemou, Attache. 


MEXICO. 

Sefior Don Manuel M. de Zamacona, Envoy 
Extraordinary and Minister Plenipoten¬ 
tiary. 

Sefior Don Jose T. de Cuellar, First Secre¬ 
tary. 

Sefior Don Cayetano Romero, Second Secre¬ 
tary. 

Sefior D. Ileberto E. Rodriguez, Auxiliary 
Secretary. 

Sefior Don Miguel Covarrubias, Auxiliary 
Secretary. 

Sefior Don Rafael Pardo, Attache. 

NETHERLANDS. 

Mr. Rudolph de Pestel, Minister Resident. 

Mr. Rudolph C. Burlage, Charge de Affaires 

ad interim. 

NICARAGUA. 

Sefior General Maximo Jerez, Envoy Ex¬ 
traordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

Sefior J. D. Rodriguez, Secretary ofLegation. 

PERU. 

Sefior Don Ramon Ignacio Garcia, Charge 
d’Affaires. 

PORTUGAL. 

Viscount das Nogueiras, Envoy Extraordi¬ 
nary and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

RUSSIA. 

Mr. Michel Bertholomei, Envoy Extraordi¬ 
nary and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

Mr. Gregoire de Willamov, Secretary of Le¬ 
gation. 

Mr. Wladimir de Meissner, Second Secretary. 

SALVADOR. 

Sefior Don Arturo Ubico, Envoy Extraordi¬ 
nary and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

SPAIN. 

Sefior Don Francisco Barca, Envoy Extraordi¬ 
nary and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

Sefior Don---, First Secretary of 

Legation. 

Sefior Don Jose de Soto, Second Secretary of 
Legation. 

Sefior Don Fernando Osorio, Attache. 

Colonel Don Jose Ramon de Olafieta, Mili¬ 
tary Attache. 

Com. Don Juan Montojo, Naval Attache. 

SWEDEN AND NORWAY. 

Count Carl Lewenhaupt, Envoy Extraordi¬ 
nary and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

Mr. do Bildt, Secretary of Legation. 

TURKEY. 

Gregoire Aristarchi Bey, Envoy Extraordi¬ 
nary and Minister Plenipotentiary. 

Rustem Effendi, Secretary of Legation. 

VENEZUELA. 

Sefior Don Simon Camacho, Charge d’Affaires. 











PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL 


73 


UNITED STATES LEGATIONS ABROAD. 

ARGENTINE REPUBLIC. 

Thomas O. Osborn, Minister Resident, Bue¬ 
nos Ayres. 

AUSTRTA-HUNGARY. 

William Walter Phelps, Envoy Extraor¬ 
dinary and Minister Plenipotentiary, Vi¬ 
enna. 

John F. Delaplaine, Secretary of Legation, 
Vienna. 

BELGIUM. 

James O. Putnam, Minister Resident, Brus¬ 
sels. 

BOLIVIA. 

Charles Adams, Minister Resident and Con¬ 
sul-General, Jja Paz. 

BRAZIL. 

Thomas A. Osborn, Envoy Extraordinary 
and Minister Plenipotentiary, Rio de Ja¬ 
neiro. 

John C. White, Secretary of Legation, Rio 
de Janeiro. 

CENTRAL AMERICAN STATES. 

(Costa Rica, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, and 
Salvador.) 

Cornelius A. Logan, Minister Resident, Gua¬ 
temala City. 

CHILI. 

Judson Kilpatrick, Envoy Extraordinary 
and Minister Plenipotentiary, Santiago. 

CHINA. 

James B. Angell, Envoy Extraordinary and 
Minister Plenipotentiary, Peking. 

Chester Holcombe, Secretary of Legation 
and Interpreter, Peking. 

COLOMBIA. 

George Maney, Minister Resident, Bogota. 

DENMARK. 

--, Charge d’Affaires, Copen¬ 
hagen. 

FRANCE. 

Edward F. Noyes, Envoy Extraordinary and 
Minister Plenipotentiary, Paris. 

G. P. Pomeroy, Secretary of Legation, Paris. 

Henry Vignaud, Second Secretary of Lega¬ 
tion, Paris. 

GERMAN EMPIRE. 

Andrew D. White, Envoy Extraordinary 
and Minister Plenipotentiary, Berlin. 

H. Sidney Everett, Secretary of Legation, 
Berlin. 

Chapman Coleman, Second Secretary of Le¬ 
gation, Beidin. 

GREAT BRITAIN. 

James Russell Lowell, Envoy Extraordinary 
and Minister Plenipotentiary, London. 

William J. Hoppin, Secretary ol Legation, 
and Charge d’Affaircs ad interim , London. 

Ehrman S. Nadal, Second Secretary of 
Legation, London. 

10 


HAWAIIAN ISLANDS. 

J. M. Comly, Minister Resident, Honolulu. 

HAYTI. 

John M. Langston, Minister Resident and 
Consul-General, Port an Prince. 

ITALY. 

George P. Marsh, Envoy Extraordinary and 
Minister Plenipotentiary, Rome. 

George W. Wurts, Secretary of Legation, 
Rome. 

JAPAN. 

John A. Bingham, Envoy Extraordinary and 
Minister Plenipotentiary, Tokei. 

Durham W. Stevens, Secretary of Legation, 
Tokei. 

David Thompson, Interpreter, Tokei. 

LIBERIA. 

John H. Smyth, Minister Resident and Con¬ 
sul-General, Monrovia. 

MEXICO. 

Philip II. Morgan, Envoy Extraordinary and 
Minister Plenipotentiary, Mexico. 

Edward M. Neill, Secretary of Legation, 
Mexico. 

THE NETHERLANDS. 

James Birney, Minister Resident, the Hague. 

PARAGUAY AND URUGUAY. 

Jeremiah M. Rusk, Charge d’Affaires, Monte¬ 
video, Uruguay. 

PERU. 

Stephen A. Hurlbut, Envoy Extraordinary 
and Minister Plenipotentiary, Lima. 

PORTUGAL. 

Benjamin Moran, Charge d’Affaires, Lisbon. 

ROUMANIA. 

Eugene Schuyler, Charge d’Affaires and 
Consul-General, Bucharest. 

RUSSIA. 

' John W. Foster, Envoy Extraordinary and 
Minister Plenipotentiary, St. Petersburg. 

Wickham Hoffman, Secretary of Legation, 
and Charire d’Affaires ad interim , St. Pe- 
\ tersburg. 

SPAIN. 

Lucius Fairchild, Envoy Extraordinary and 
Minister Plenipotentiary, Madrid. 

Dwight T. Reed, Secretary of Legation, 
Madrid. 

SWEDEN AND NORWAY. 

John L. Stevens, Minister Resident, Stock¬ 
holm. 

SWITZERLAND. 

M. J. Cramer, Charge d’Affaires, Berne. 


TURKEY. 

Lewis Wallace, Minister Resident, Constan¬ 
tinople. 

G. Harris Heap, Consul-General, and ex of¬ 
ficio Secretary of Legation, Constanti¬ 
nople. 

A. A. Gargiulo, Interpreter, Constantinople. 


VENEZUELA. 

Jehu Baker, Minister Resident, Caracas. 


BUYING A COW. 

Deacon Smith’s wagon stopped one morn¬ 
ing before Widow Jones’s door, and he gave 
the usual country sign that he wanted some¬ 
body in the house, by dropping the reins and 
sitting double with his elbows on his knees. 
Out tripped the widow, lively as a cricket, 
with a tremendous black ribbon in her snow- 
white cap. “ Good-morning” was said on 
both sides, and the widow waited for what 
was further to be said. 

“Well, Ma’am .Jones, perhaps you don’t 
want to sell one of your cows, now, for 
nothing, any way, do you?” 

“Well, there, Mister Smith, you couldn’t 
have spoken my mind better. A poor lone 
j woman like me does not know what to do 
with so many creturs, and I should be glad 
to trade if we can fix it.” 

So they adjourned to the meadow. Dea¬ 
con Smith looked at Roan, then at the widow, 
—at Brindle, then at the widow,—at the 
Downing cow, then at the widow again,— 
j and so through the whole forty. The same 
call was made every da}* for a week, but the 
| deacon could not decide which cow he wanted, 
j At length, on Saturday, when the Widow 
Jones was in a hurry to get through her 
i baking for Sunday, and had “ ever so much 
to do in the house,” as all farmers’ wives and 
widows have on Saturday, she was a little 
impatient. Deacon Smith was as irresoluto 
as ever. 

“ That ’ere Downing cow is a pretty fair 
cretur,” said he, “but”—he stopped to glance 
at the widow’s face, and then walked around 
her—not the widow, but the cow. 

“ The Downing cow I knew before the lato 
Mr. Jones bought her.” Here he sighed at 
the allusion to the late Mr. Jones ; she sighed, 
and both looked at each other. It was a 
highly interesting moment. 

“ Old Roan is a faithful old milch, and so 
is Brindle, but I have known better.” A long 
stare succeeded his speech—the pause was 
getting awkward—and at last Mrs. Jones 
broke out: 

“Law! Mr. Smith, if I'm the cow you 
want, do say so!" 

The intentions of the deacon and the 
widow were published the next day. 




















74 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


[copyright secured.] 


GERMANY. 


OLD WORLD GOOD-BY. 

BY MRS. LYDIA M. MILLARD. 

Written during the Centennial for “ Our Second Century. 

The oldest nation unto us 
Its morning greeting sends; 

We’ve shaken hands with all the earth, 

God keep us always friends ! 

For ours is theirs, and theirs is ours, 
Where’er they go or stay ; 

Deep in our heart they’ve planted flowers 
That blossom every day. 

BRAZIL. 

We thank Brazil with all our heart 
For all her grand display; 

For half she leaves and half she gives, 

In her own noble way. 

Her emperor’s imperial soul, 

That each man, brother, owns, 

The years shall crown, as on they roll, 

With Memory’s precious stones. 

ENGLAND. 

Half Mother England brought us o’er 
Shall ne’er see home again; 

Firm as the hills that guard her shore 
Be her long, happy reign ! 

Thank her for noblest skill and art, 

And nobler pulse that thrills our heart; 
Where’er our Stars shall climb the blue, 

“ God save the Queen” shall echo too. 

IRELAND. 

Old Ireland’s tapestry and lace 
Our homes shall deck with regal grace ; 

Her sons our roughest way have cleared, 
Our cots and palaces have reared, 

Our depths gone down, our heights up- 
climbed, 

Our towers have built, our bells have 
chimed, 

And on their shoulders, broad and high, 

Our burdens lifted to the sky. 

In danger, torture, exile, too, 

Old Ireland’s heart beats warm and true ; 
Where’er we wave a stripe or star 
We’ll welcome Erin—Erin go bragh ! 

SCOTLAND. 

With Scotland’s sons at our right hand, 

And their integrity so grand, 

Their judgment cool, their iron will, 

Our failing hearts with hope to fill, 

Their faith divine to shield from harm, 
Their friendly plaid to keep us warm, 

We’ll sail through shipwreck, storm, or fears 
Another fairer hundred years. 


And you, Germania, tried and true, 

Have shown what heads and hands can do: 
You’ve fired our souls with noblest song, 
And fought our battles brave and strong; 
You’ve shared our joys, and shared our fears, 
And been our faithful friend for years. 

Half your art gallery we’ll keep 
To make art-lovers smile and weep, 

While with your chromos, bronzes, toys 
We’ll double all our household joys ; 

Your clocks our happy hours shall chime, 
Your music with our hearts keep time, 

For by our dead your dead have lain, 

Your tears have wept away our pain. 

FRANCE. 

You, land of Lafayette, have had 
Our warmest wish and heart, 

And Pennsylvania is glad 
To keep your gems of art. 

You’ve filled our homes with airy grace, 

Our roughest corners smoothed with taste, 
Round our dull fields of common sense 
You’ve built your blooming, rosy fence, 

And taught our beggared millionaire 
With patient grace life’s ills to bear. 

For all your sad mistake or pain 
May greener grow your fields again; 

For every thorn that’s pierced your feet 
May brighter roses bloom more sweet! 

ITALAL 

Your gems, Italia, flashing bright, 

Gleam fairest on our breast 
As long as stars shall deck our night, 

Or earth with flowers is dressed. 

Over your weary waves of strife 
Peace dome her sunniest blue; 

Bright as your rubies glow your life 
In all the world’s glad view. 

’Twas you, Columbus, found our shore, 

This land so fair to-day, 

And all earth’s children evermore 
His name with reverence say; 

An aureola ever bright 
Italia’s brow must wear, 

Genoa’s son, cncrowned with night, 

Shall Fame’s proud shoulders bear. 

SPAIN. 

We can’t forget your hearts so brave, 

Nor all your royal kindness, Spain ! 

For you your rarest jewels gave 

To keep the wanderer o’er the main. 

TURKEY. 

Turkey has woven for our feet 
Her fadeless flowers so fair, 

For ever blooming, ever sweet 
Their buds and blossoms rare. 

LAPLAND. 

Lapland has shown us she defies 
December’s storm and sleet, 

As over rough and smooth she flies 
With reindeer’s faithful feet. 


ICELAND. 

We’ve learned of you, old Iceland small, 
How most to make of least, 

Where Nature has denied us all 
Ourselves to find a feast; 

To reap a harvest of our thought, 

Or by the midnight sun 
To have some poem grander wrought, 
Some purpose nobler done. 

EGYPT. 

While Egypt bursts upon our shores 
With all her treasure blaze, 

Her ivory and gold she pours 
Before our eager gaze. 

CHINA. 

China, you gave us long ago 
Silk, powder, porcelain too; 

In danger, dinner, and in dyes 
You’ve always helped us through. 

You’ve given us tea, delightful tea, 

In many weary days ; 

Your stars and rockets every year 
Make all Columbia blaze. 

JAPAN. 

We’ve learned of you, polite Japan, 

How courtesy succeeds, 

And read on ivory, shell, and jar 
Your heroes’ noble deeds. 

HOLLAND. 

God bless you, Holland, as you go! 

Leave Schiller, Goethe here, 

Inlaid with pearl, their beauty’ll show 
How Holland we revere. 

Your blankets long shall keep us warm, 
Your carpets rest our feet; 

Your sons have made our friendship strong, 
Your memory always sweet. 

SWITZERLAND. 

You plucky little Switzerland ! 

Make us no trading mart, 

But give us with your heart and hand 
Your rule and guide and chart, 

Your engineering all entire, 

And your instructions wise : 

No better gift could we desire, 

And none more highly prize. 

SWEDEN. 

You, Sweden’s land, so cold and fierce, 

With hearts so glowing warm, 

Your gifts bloom out like flower and star 
With their own native charm; 

You’ve ploughed your sea and roamed your 
land, 

And garnered from the deep 
Your brighest gems of wave and strand, 

In all our homes to keep; 

You’ve given with free, unstinted hand, 

And nothing back will take; 

God bless your priest’s and poet’s land, 

For Tegner’s, Franzen’s sake! 









PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


7o 


NORWAY. 


It seoniH no sorrow e’er could dwell 
Where Norway’s tirs are spread : 

Her down, so fairy-like, might sootho 
The saddest aching head. 

DENMARK. 

And we might drink our health most sure 
From Denmark’s vase so clear, 

Drink life’s elixir, warm and pure, 

Drink happiness and cheer. 

AFRICA. 

You’ve nobly won from Afric’s heart 
A harvest golden green, 

And crowned young Orange for her part, 
Toil’s patient, last-born queen. 

BELGIUM. 

We’d like to have always in sight 
Belgium’s tine bronzes rare. 

See first at morn and last at night 
Her faultless marbles fair. 

CANADA. 

And wrap ourselves in regal furs 
From Canada’s kind shores,— 

We’ll keep best friends with her and hers 
While our Niagara roars. 

We long to see your hills and skies, 

Your vales and fountains too, 

And see your glorious stars arise 
And climb the evening blue. 

HUNGARY. 

You, Hungary, unrivalled quite, 

Shall glow in Memory’s caverns bright 
AYith opal’s iridescent light, 

And still are long the aisles of thought. 

RUSSIA. 

Your wonders, Russia, gleaming wrought: 
Your beai’s with beady eyes look down, 
And on our curious gaze they frown; 
Your splendors barbaric untold, 

Your mediaeval relics old, 

Your jewelled fruits and flowers unfold; 
Your jasper, opal, malachite, 

Your topaz, crystal, green nephryte, 
Lazuli, rosy shodonite, 

Your tourmaline, labradorite. 

So gleam your stars from out your snows, 
In memory bright each jewel glows. 

EUROPE, ASIA, AND AFRICA. 

Old Europe, Asia, Afric, all, 

And Islands of the sea, 

We thank you for your present call, 
Though lonely left arc we. 

Your beauty blaze, art’s glory tide 
You’ve kindled on our shore ; 

Grace, mercy, peace with you abide 
For ever, evermore! 


For ours is yours and yours is ours, 
Whero’er you go or stay ; 

Deep in our heart you’ve planted flowers 
That blossom every day. 

We long to see your hills and skies, 

Your vales and fountains too, 

And see your glorious stars arise 
And climb the evening blue. 

We know there is one glorious land 
Where all the worlds have room, 
Beneath whose blue pavilion grand 
All our lost flowers may bloom,— 

A fairer Philadelphia’s clime, 

And an Art Gallery sublime, 

A great Memorial Hall. 

There may we all shake hands some time, 
While all the morning star-bells chime 
tL There’s room and home for all!” 


WOMAN’S HEROISM. 

A woman in New York is reputed to be 
worth two million dollars. When a girl she 
left her New England home to seek a for¬ 
tune. She passed her first night in New 
York walking the streets, for she had not 
money enough to pay for lodgings. She 
kept her destitution to herself. She en¬ 
gaged a small room, and solicited pupils 
from house to house. Her cheery face, neat 
attire, and resolution won. She opened a 
school with six pupils. She had but one 
dress, and that she washed at night. Her \ 
school grew in fame and in strength. Some 
of the most eminent men of New York were 
her patrons. She had a great knack at trad¬ 
ing, travelled in the West and the South as a 
saleswoman, invested wisely, and became 
rich. 

One of the most eminent physicians in 
New York owed his wealth to his wife’s 
mother. This woman was a Philadelphia 
milliner. During the war of 1812 she bought 
a large bankrupt stock of ribbons and mil¬ 
linery goods. The war closed, and the stock 
rose on her hands. She invested her gains 
in a farm on the Bloomingdale road. A few 
hundred dollars invested in fancy goods 
swelled into a colossal fortune. 

Two ladies were left heirs to a large landed 
estate. The property yielded nothing, while 
the taxes and assessments nearly ate every¬ 
thing up. The girls suffered every priva¬ 
tion, but held on to the land. I heard 
Bishop Onderdonk say that while he was 
rector of Trinity Church the ladies gave up 
their pews, for they were too poor to pay 
their rent. They held on, and are now mil¬ 
lionaires. 

BUSINESS REPUTE. 

Reputation is as good as capital; char¬ 
acter is better. Reputation is what a man 


passes for; character is what he is. A man 
on the Pacific coast sent a box of gold dust 
to a Boston chemist. He had a mountain 
full, he said, enough to pay the National 
debt. The dust was worthless. The repute 
was gold ; character was iron pyrites. Call¬ 
ing iron pyrites gold dust don’t make it so. 
Reputation is invaluable, but men rise by 
character. An intelligent row boy will keep 
a hotel. A smart and fair newsboy will edit 
a journal or own a book-store. A bright 
store boy will grow into a merchant. A 
trade-mark is often a fortune in itself. The 
piioneers on the Pacific coast demanded axes 
from a particular factory in Massachusetts. 
One style of American prints are in demand 
at Manchester. Plated ware of a particular 
house sells in Sheffield. Some brands of 
flour and sugar lead the market. Merchants 
who are millionaires are men of repute. 
Lawyers who take thousand-dollar retainers 
and grow into judges, are men of character. 
A doctor who wins golden fees, earns them 
by years of honor, study, and skill. 


PROVERBS OF TRADE. 

“ He that passeth by, and meddleth with 
strife belonging not to him. is like one that 
taketh a dog by the ears.” Keep out of 
other peoples’ broils. 

“Remove not the old land-marks.” Be 
honest. 

“Riches certainly make themselves wings, 
they fly away.” Wealth is insecure. 

“ Buy the truth and sell it not.” Hold on 
to principle. 

“He that followeth after vain persons 
shall have poverty enough.” Evil company 
is ruinous. 

“Thy father’s friend forsake not.” Tried 
advisers are best. 

“A man that hath friends must show him¬ 
self friendly.” A man must give as well as 
take. 

“He that is greedy of gain troublcth his 
own house.” Avarice is an unwelcome 
lodger. 

“It is not meet to see servants on horses, 
and princes walking.” There is a fitness in 
things. 

“ If the iron be blunt, and he do not whet 
the edge, then must ho put to more strength.” 
Wisdom will direct. 

“Birds are caught in a snare; so are the 
sons of men snared in an evil time. ’ Temp¬ 
tations carry men under. 

“ Riches kept for the owners thereof to their 
hurt.” Wealth ruins more than poverty. 

“ A man diligent in his business shall stand 
before kings.” There is profit in labor. 












70 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. 

BY FRANCIS SCOTT KEY. 

From McCarty’s “National Songs” the 
following is the account of the composition 
of this, the most celebrated of our National 
buries: 

“A gentleman left Baltimore with a flag: 
of truce, for the purpose of getting released 
from the British fleet a friend of his, who had 
been captured at Marlborough, lie went as 
far as the mouth of the Patuxent, and was 
not permitted to return, lest the intended 
attack on Baltimore should be disclosed. 
He was therefore brought up the bay to the 
mouth of the Patapsco, where the flag-vessel 
was kept under the guns of the frigate; and 
he was compelled to witness the bombard¬ 
ment of Fort McHenry, which the admiral 
had boasted he would carry in a few hours, 
and that the city must fall. He watched the 
flag at the fort through the whole day with 
an anxiety that can be better felt than de¬ 
scribed, until the night prevented him from 
seeing it. In the night he watched the bomb¬ 
shells, and at early dawn his e 3 T es were again 
greeted by the flag of his country.” 

Oh ! say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light, 
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last 
gleaming, 

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, o’er the per¬ 
ilous fight, 

O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly 
streaming ! 

And the rockets’ red glare, bombs bursting in air, 
Gave proof through the night that our flag was 
still there; 

Oh ! say, does that star-spangled banner still 
wave 

O’er the land of the free, and the home of the 
brave ? 


On that shore, dimly seen through the mists of the 
deep, 

Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence re¬ 
poses, 

What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering 
steep, 

As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? 

Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam, 

In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream: 

’Tis the star-spangled banner, Oh, long may it 
wave 

O’er the land of the free, and the home of the 
brave! 


And where is the band who so vauntingly swore 
That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion 
A home and a country should leave us no more? 
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ 
pollution. 

No refuge could save the hireling and slave 
From the terror of flight and the gloom of the 
grave. 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth 
wave 

O’er the land of the free, and the home of the 
brave. 


Oh ! thus be it ever when freemen shall stand 
Between their loved homes and the war’s desola¬ 
tion. 

Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued 
land 

Praise the power that hath made and preserved us 
a nation. 

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, 
And this be our motto—“ In God is our trust.” 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall 
wave 

O’er the land of the free, and the home of the 
brave. 


[WRITTEN FOR THE GARFIELD MEMORIAL.] 

A WIFE WANTED; OR, HOW MR. FIGGINS RE¬ 
MAINED AN OLD BACHELOR. 

CHAPTER I. 

Mr. Joseph Figgins, or Joe Figgins, as 
be was familiarly called, was a thriving 
merchant of New York City, with forty 
years on bis shoulders, and a fair amount of 
flesh on his anatomy. Having amassed a 
moderate fortune in the leather trade, he 
was thinking seriously of retiring from the 
worry and turmoil of active business, enter¬ 
ing upon the honorable state of marriage, 
and settling down into a quiet life. The 
question of renouncing his condition of 
“single blessedness” was one, however, 
which caused him no little concern. On 
that score, the most extraordinary and even 
alarming ideas presented themselves to his 
mind, and puzzled him completely as to how 
he should set about to achieve the end in 
view. Of the existence of love, in its ro¬ 
mantic aspect, he pretended to be sceptical. 
He did not believe in the feu sacre of the 
poet; and he argued that, if it did exist, it 
was in no way necessary to the happiness 
of marriage, which, he maintained, should 
be a purely business compact, entered into 
for mutual comfort and convenience. 

“ Old Fig,” as his clerks used to speak of 
him, was a man of sj'stem. His individuality 
had been ground out of him by the stern 
methods to which he had been subjected 
from his youth; and his thoughts were 
evolved by a process of calculation peculiar 
to the firm of Granger, Figgins & Company, 
of which he Avas a highly esteemed member. 

Entering in the employ of the firm at the 
age of thirteen, when his name was a mere 
cipher and the broom was the principal in¬ 
strument which he handled in his department , 
he evinced so great an aptitude for the busi¬ 
ness and yielded so readily to their methods, 
that, before five years had elapsed, he had 
acquired a position of trust in the establish¬ 
ment, and at thirty had been installed as a 
partner. 

With a perseverance and steadiness al¬ 
most superhuman, he found little time for 
dissipation. Business was his hobby. In 
it he derived pleasure and relaxation; and 


while others went in the pursuit of follies, 
as he w 7 as wont to style even the most inno¬ 
cent of recreations, he was satisfied with 
running up his columns and contemplating 
the balance at his bankers. As to the world, 
outside of the circle of business, his ideas 
were consequently foggy. A social non¬ 
entity he was in every sense of the word; 
and at the sight of a lady he would blush 
like a maiden of fifteen summers. 

Incessant application to work, however, 
had commenced to tell upon him; and the 
fangs of gout or rheumatism had been 
making faint attempts to bury themselves 
in his flesh. His physician had advised him 
to “drop” figures and accounts and take to 
mild exercise, mineral waters, and light 
literature. 

It was whilst following the doctor’s ad¬ 
vice in this latter respect and trying to 
“chase dull care away” by the perusal of 
the pages of one of Mrs. Southworth’s love 
stories, that the idea of matrimony first 
dawned upon him. To do him justice, he 
did not believe in the romance which the 
books contained. “Clever pen,” he would 
say, speaking of the authors, “sparkling- 
wit and so forth, but deuced unreal. All 
that fine writing about love and passion is 
all gammon. Never felt anything of the 
kind in my life.” No doubt, Mr. Figgins, 
you told the truth then; but the elements 
of combustion were not yet at hand to pro¬ 
duce the sacred fire within you. 

If you ask, gentle reader, what prompted 
old Fig to contemplate marriage, I will tell 
you that it Avas nothing else than curiosity 
—the same old story of Mother Eve, I sup¬ 
pose. He had a lurking idea that there was 
something pleasant and new about it, but 
what that Avas he could not exactly realize. 
The material advantages he, of course, per¬ 
ceived, w T ith his business sagacity. There 
was something, after all, to be gained in 
having another to look after the housekeep¬ 
ing, seAv on the shirt buttons, repair the 
shirt collars and sleeves, darn the socks Avhen 
they commenced to introduce light and air 
at the extremities, and, in fact, to renovate 
the numerous other details of a similar kind 
Avith which Ave arc troubled by over-exacting 
civilization. Moreover, he took delight in 
I the thought of haA r ing some one to prattle 
papa to him, and to Avhom he could transmit 
his fortune and the great name of Figgins. 
The thought tickled him the more that he 
had never known Avhat it Avas to lisp the 
dear familiar word. Ilis parents had died 
before he could form any recollections of 
them; and an only maiden aunt, Avho had 
taken charge of young Figgins, had folloAved 
in the Avay of all flesh just about the time 
that the poor orphan had commenced to 
draw his eight dollars a week. 

One cold winter’s evening, Mr. Figgins 
was ruminating in his faA T orite arm-chair, 















































































































ESI DENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


t i 


with hia feet on the fender, in front of a bright 
fire, endeavoring to collect some warmth be¬ 
tween the blazing element and a glass of hot 
punch beside him, when his friend Melroy, of 
the firm ol J. Melroy & Sons, stone manufac¬ 
turers, was announced. Figgins was not a 
drinker, but enjoyed a glass in moderation. 

Well, said Melroy, striding cheerfully 
into the room, and shaking hands with his 
pensive friend. “ Not dressed ! Haven’t 
you prepared yourself for the introduction ? 
Those girls of Teddy’s are admirable crea¬ 
tures, I can assure you, and the eldest will 
just suit you to a T.” 

Mr. Figgins was not as slim as might have 
been desired, and would scarcely have been 
chosen as an artist’s model for Apollo. 
There was a monkish look of port wine and 
bonhomie about him which was more in 
consonance with the idea of Bacchus astride 
on a lager beer barrel. These qualities, how¬ 
ever, were not without their recommenda¬ 
tions; while the eldest Teddyite, of whose 
charms Mr. Melroy was such an emphatic 
advocate, was verging on that agitating 
period of life when census returns become 
a severe test of a woman’s veracity and the 
chances of matrimony begin to look decid¬ 
edly remote, if not hopeless. These were 
facts which friend Melroy, who, unlike Fig¬ 
gins, was a man of the world, duly con¬ 
sidered, and he concluded, therefore, that if 
Figgins could only be induced to “ pop the 
question,” the probabilities were in favor of 
his acceptance. But his plans were to be 
foiled rather unexpectedly. 

“ I’ll tell you what, Jim,” said Figgins, 
“ I have been thinking over the matter seri¬ 
ously, and I have come to the conclusion 
that I should only be making a goose of my¬ 
self if I went through this introduction in 
the manner you propose. I am no lady’s 
man, as you know ; and, with my confounded 
timidity, I wouldn’t know whether I was 
standing on my head or my heels before the 
girl. Ideally you must excuse me ! I am 
sorry I troubled you. I intend to work the 
matter on our business principles, and I have 
never known them to fail us yet. Have a 
glass of punch, and we’ll talk about other 
matters.” 

CIIAPTEE II. 

A few days after the meeting of the two 
friends, the following advertisement ap¬ 
peared in the Herald , the fashionable me¬ 
dium for such and similar communica¬ 
tions : 

“ MATRIMONIAL. 

“An American gentleman of means (age, 40) 
would be glad to correspond with an educated 
American lady, of refined habits and quiet and re¬ 
tired disposition, with a view to matrimony. 

“Address ‘ Forty,’ Herald Office, box 10.” 

In due time the replies came. Figgins 
counted them. There were no less than 


forty-one. They comprised all shades of 
composition, from Mrs. Caudle to Madame 
do Sevigne. He selected two out of these, 
and determined to think seriously over them 
with the view of deciding to which of the 
lair creatures referred to he should finally 
assign his preference. 

Of the two letters, No. 1 ran thus: 

“ [Confidential.] 

“New York City, No. 15 East 116th St., 

“ 8th May, 1880. 

“Colonel Norris begs to present his com¬ 
pliments to the gentleman who advertised 
in yesterday’s Herald, under the head of 
‘Matrimonial,’ requesting replies to be sent 
to the address ‘ Forty, Herald Office, box 10,’ 
and addresses him this note, with the object 
of meeting his wishes, if possible. 

“ Though the feelings of a father might 
well be his excuse for so doing, it is not for 
him to extol the virtues and accomplishments 
of his child. He will only say that she has 
ever been to him a model of filial affection. 
As to her education and manners, the author 
of the advertisement will be able to judge 
for himself, if he will do him the honor of 
calling, when he will be glad to see him. 

“ Colonel Norris is growing old and infirm, 
and is anxious, before the end comes, to see 
his child comfortably settled under the pro¬ 
tection of a noble and generous-hearted 
Christian, to whom she might extend, in re¬ 
turn, the affectionate care which she has 
never ceased to devote to her loving parents. 
Card enclosed.” 

No. 2 was in these terms: 

“To Generous Unknown, 

“ Forty, Herald Office, box 10 : 

“ Dear Sir, —It is at all times difficult to 
reply upon so delicate a subject as that re¬ 
ferred to in your advertisement in this morn¬ 
ing’s Herald. But it is the more so to me who 
am deprived of the protection of parents, to 
whom I might turn for assistance and ad¬ 
vice in the hour of need. Yes! I am an 
orphan, and have been so from a very tendei 
ace, living with an aged aunt who, alas ! 
must soon pay the last debt of nature. I 
was for a long time averse to the idea of 
matrimony; but, upon reflection, I hav o 
found, though my means are ample to main¬ 
tain me so comfortably, that the single state 
is not the mission of woman. Her loving 
heart yearns for some noble soul upon whom 
to lavish the sympathies with which it over¬ 
flows, while her weakness requires the pio- 
tecting arm of the more powerful sex. I 
care not for personal attractions. To mo 
the qualities of mind and heart are para¬ 
mount. If yon will do us the favoi oi call¬ 
ing at the following address, — City, No. 5 
Howard Street,—Aunty will be pleased to 
see you. I suppress my name for the present, 


and rely on you to treat this letter as the 
nature demands. 

“ Yours, 

“8th May, 1880. “ Faithful.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Figgins, after he had re¬ 
volved the matter in his mind for forty-eight 
hours, during which his movements had been 
dogged by a man in a brown suit, with a 
J Jewish nose and dark hair and whiskers, 

“ I guess I’ll see the old gentleman’s daugh- 
i ter. He gives his name, which means good 
faith; and I think I have heard of him. If 
the girl has been such an affectionate daugh 
ter she is sure to be an affectionate wife. 
The old fellow, too, is a Republican, and 
there’ll be no splitting over politics, as was 
the case with that unreasoning old third- 
termer, Butler, the other day; as if third 
terms could ever be permitted when there 
are so many deserving patriots who can’t 
get even a single chance to get in. Besides, 
it won’t be so awkward with the father as it 
would be with the other girl, who hasn’t a 
deputy to help me. Why, hang me if I 
wouldn’t break down on seeing her. And 
then her style don’t quite tally with my 
ideas of business brevity. I’ll go for the 
colonel’s daughter.” 

Whereupon, having delivered himself of 
these reflections sotto voce, our friend braced 
up his courage, ordered the carriage, wrote 
a note to the colonel saying he would call 
in the afternoon, and betook himself to the 
preparation of his toilet, which, as may be 
imagined, was performed with the most scru¬ 
pulous care, and occupied more than the 
I ordinary length of time on this occasion. 

At four o’clock that afternoon a carriage 
rattled up to No. 15 East 116th Street. A 
footman in livery was in readiness to open 
the carriage door, and a plump middle-aged 
gentleman, apparently a recent visitor of 
one of the fashionable city tailors, judging 
from his bandbox appearance and the cut of 
his clothes, landed on the sidewalk, and was 
shown in. 

“Glad to see you, sir; very glad to see 
you, indeed!” exclaimed a gentleman with 
gray hair, a smooth shaven face, and an un¬ 
mistakable Jewish nose, extending his hand 
to the stranger as the latter reached the 
landing, and the two gentlemen entered the 
I parlor together. 

“ Take a seat, Mr. Figgins ; make yourself 
quite at home,” said Colonel Norris,—for it 
was no less a personage than that distin¬ 
guished Republican officer, — as Figgins was 
looking round, evidently pleased with the 
appearance of the room. “You like the 
looks of the place, I see. Well, we have 
been living here for some time, and the fur¬ 
niture is not of the latest; but Fanny has an 
art of putting things together and giving a 
cheerful aspect to everything. She is in¬ 
valuable in that way, — really artistic in her 





78 


PRESIDENT 


tastes. Of course you’ll have something to 
drink," and champagne was ordered. “To 
come to another and more important subject, 
Mr. Figgins,” added the colonel, “I must 
tell you that I have not said a word to my 
daughter on the object of your visit, and I 
think it was the best course to pursue for 
both ol you. It will, perhaps, be fairer to 
you to see her when she can have no sus¬ 
picion whatever of your designs, as you will 
then be able to judge of her real character 
better; and afterwards, if you desire it, I 
can convey your wishes to her.” 

“Quite right! quite right! You couldn’t 
have read my own thoughts better. You 
have acted admirably, sir,’ replied Figgins, 
nervously using his handkerchief to wipe 
the imaginary perspiration from off his face, 
though the thermometer was at freezing 
point, “ for I am sure I should have made an 
awful mess of it otherwise.” 

“I understand you, sir; a little shy. I 
was like that myself, but it is a quality which 
is highly to be commended.” And Norris 
ran along so smoothly, was so offhanded and 
affable, that Figgins felt quite at his case 
when Fanny made her entry upon the scene. 

“Oh, papa!” she said, as she entered, “I 
thought you were alone,” and she cast a shy 
glance at Mr. Figgins. 

“ As you see, dear, I am not. This is Mr. 
Figgins, an old friend of mine. My daugh¬ 
ter Fanny, Mr. Figgins,” and Fanny ex¬ 
tended her little hand, which was instantly 
buried in the nervous grasp of Figgins. 

“ I thought, papa,” said Fanny, “ that you 
might possibly be suffering again from that 
horrid lumbago, and ran down to see if you 
wished for another dose of Doctor Thimble’s 
‘Instantaneous Restorer.’ What wonderful 
patent medicines are produced by the pro¬ 
fession nowadays, Mr. Figgins.” 

She went on in that strain, talking- in the 
most affectionate manner to the colonel, and 
occasionally addressing a word or two to 
Mr. Figgins, who invariably blushed, and re¬ 
plied with his usual brevity. 

“Are you fond of music, sir?” she asked. 
But before Figgins had thought of a reply 
the old gentleman added, “Do play some¬ 
thing for us, darling. Mr. Figgins, I know, 
is immensely fond of music.” And without 
hesitation, but with requisite modesty, the 
young lady went up to the piano and played 
and sang several popular pieces with fair 
ability and remarkable aplomb. 

Figgins was in raptures. His feelings 
were those of agreeable surprise. Fanny 
looked quite thirty, but she had a freshness 
of complexion which does not always cling 
to the cheeks at that trying age; and she 
was, withal, pretty beyond expectation, while 
her manners were so natural and easy, and 
her conversation so wanting in precocity, 
that she may have been thought really 
younger than she appeared. 


JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 

Fanny and the colonel had made a favor¬ 
able impression; and when Figgins went 
home that evening his mind was fully made 
up. The servants noticed that he was some¬ 
what strange in his manner; and, indeed, 
he performed a number of eccentricities that 
night which were quite foreign to his sedate 
temperament; such, for instance, as jump¬ 
ing into bed with his boots on, taking out 
his shaving utensils, and lathering his face 
with soap-suds for a quarter of an hour 
without knowing it, until he was startled by 
his venerable appearance in the glass. “ Darn 
it,” said he, using a favorite expletive, “I 
can’t be drunk; I haven’t touched a thing; 
out of the usual.” He was not drunk, poor 
man, but when he got into bed, Fanny had 
waded into his soul, and the soft passion, in 
which he had disbelieved, had fairly seized 
upon him. 

Mr. Figgins’s carriage was to be seen fre¬ 
quently rattling up in the direction of No. 
15 East 110th Street. lie went almost crazy 
with anxiety to learn from the colonel when 
Fanny would decide his fate; and the an¬ 
nouncement of the news that he had been 
accepted by the fair object of his adoration 
was followed by a magnificent gift of dia¬ 
monds and jewelry to Fanny, appropriate to 
the occasion. 

The day when he should be able to carry 
away his precious prize was subsequently 
fixed ; but not without repeated expressions 
of anguish on the part of the colonel, at the 
prospect of the separation. 

“ Colonel,” exclaimed Figgins, a few days 
before that fixed for t*he- happy event, “ I 
want to settle something handsome on your 
daughter.” 

“Bosh,” replied the colonel; “ no necessity 
whatever. I don’t want any of your law 
people coming in here with their deeds and 
putting you to expense. We can do without 
them, and, besides, Fanny will get all I 
have. Bottle your generosity for another 
occasion. The whole thing must be arranged 
quietly, and without drum and trumpet; and 
that will be more in accord with Fanny’s 
disposition. I can’t prevent you from doing 
what is customary on these occasions in the 
way of wedding gifts. But that’s all. And 
let them be a trifle. From what I have 
seen of you, my dear Figgins,” added the 
colonel, affectionately, shaking him warmly 
by the hand and slapping him paternally on 
the back, “ I haven’t the least doubt that 
you will be a good husband to Fanny, and 
make her happy in every way.” 

Figgins was so overcome by his feelings 
that he could only reply by a sympathetic 
squeeze of the hand; the colonel appearing 
highly affected in the meanwhile. 

The wedding had been fixed for the 22d; 
and on the morning of the 20th, Figgins’s 
footman made his apparition at No. 15, 
with a handsome ivory workbox and an ac¬ 


JOURNAL. 

companying letter, both addressed to Fanny. 
She was there to receive the messenger; and 
a graceful compliment was returned to the 
donor; Fanny sending word that he was to 
come himself to receive her acknowledg¬ 
ments. 

When the door was closed upon the mes¬ 
senger, however, the letter was unceremoni¬ 
ously thrust into her pocket, while the con¬ 
tents of the box were hastily and eagerly 
investigated. A smile of diabolical joy suf¬ 
fused her countenance as she pulled out a 
cheek for four thousand dollars and a par- 
ure of pearls and rubies which could not 
have been purchased for a less sum than 
two thousand dollars. 

“Poor fellow,” she said, as she closed the 
box and secured it. “ He has been generous. 
Would to heavens it were all true and possi¬ 
ble. But it is too late. There is no coming 
back, and it would be serious to prolong the 
game.” 

Of course the ardent and generous lover 
called; and it was then, and then only, that 
he ventured and was permitted to steal a 
chaste kiss from the dear lips which had so 
often tempted him. But it was cruel, was it 
not, to allow him a foretaste of happiness 
from which he was doomed to exclusion? 

When the next day, at the usual hour, 
Mr. Figgins pulled up at No. 15, he was 
startled by the appearance of a placard on 
the door with the ominous words “To let,” 
written in a large and legible hand. He was 
about to ring the bell, in the hope that some 
one had been perpetrating a practical joke 
upon the colonel, when a neighbor dispelled 
the fond illusion. “ Why, the gent’s cleared 
out last night, sir, bag and baggage.” He 
staggered to his carriage, drove to his bank¬ 
ers, and discovered that the check for four 
thousand dollars had been cashed since the 
day before. 

The last train for the East the night pre¬ 
vious was, at the time, whirling along on 
its rapid course a couple, seemingly man 
and wife, who were comfortably installed in 
one of the luxurious palace cars of the line, 
and commenting upon the contents of a let¬ 
ter, just unsealed, which bore the address of 
Miss Fanny Norris, No. 15 East 116th St. 
Was it somebody else’s letter that they were 
treating with such little ceremony ? For 
their luggage was labelled “Mr. A Mrs. I. 
Thompson, passengers for California.” 

“ It’s a glorious speculation,” said the fe¬ 
male passenger, “ but I pity the old chap. 
What a terrible disappointment it will be 
when he goes round to-day.” The word 
“pity” conveyed all the remorse which she 
ever felt on the subject. 

“Hang it,” replied her more hardened 
confederate,—a smooth-faced man of thirty, 
with dark hair and a Jewish nose,—“he’ll 
soon get over it. As for the money, he has 
plenty to spare, and ten thousand dollars 





PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


79 


won’t ruin him.” With this consolatory re¬ 
mark, sad to reflect upon, lie threw himself 
back upon the cushions, while the locomotive 
puffed along and carried closer and closer 
to their destination two of the cleverest 
and most unscrupulous manipulators that 
ever invaded the abodes of crime. Actors 
they were in every sense of the word; and 
such splendid talents as they had prostituted 
to the purposes of their diabolical traffic 
might, in that honorable career which is 
open to all, have led them to aspire to the 
fame of our most popular artists. 

But to return to our friend Biggins; what 
with the violent and unexpected blight upon 
his amorous aspirations and the loss of his 
dollars, his feelings may be easily imagined. 
Slowly and painfully the facts revealed 
themselves to his mind. But he kept his 
own secret for the time and suffered his 
mortification in silence. The humiliation of 
an exposure was too painful to be risked. 
It was only several months after that he 
ventured to unbosom himself to his confi¬ 
dant Melroy, when he was compelled to ad¬ 
mit that the principles which lead to fortune 
are not necessarily those which lead to con¬ 
jugal felicity. 


(From the Home Journal.) 

MY WISH. 

BY FRANK II. NORTON. 

I. 

If I might have my wish, 

I would that this fair earth were thine and 
mine— 

The sunlight thine to gild thy radiant 
hair : 

The moonlight mine to show thy face 
more fair— 

The sun, moon, earth, stars, verily thine and 
mine, 

If I might have my wish. 

II. 

If I might have my wish, 

I would that thou wert mine and I were 
thine; 

And all the circling systems were no 
more, 

And time were not, nor death, nor all 
before, 

Nor all that cometh after—at the sign— 

If I might have my wish. 

III. 

If I might have my wish, 

I would that what 1 was and am were not; 

That what I might have been were truly 
me, 

And that thou wert what I would have 
thee bo, 

And all we now remember were forgot, 

If I might have my wish. 


IY. 

If I might have my wish, 

I would that things that curse and things 
that bless 

The tortuous ways of living, and the 
breath 

That fitfully prevents us from sweet 
death, 

Might fade before my infinite tenderness, 

If I might have my wish. 


THE JAMES FOUNTAIN. 

The new fountain which Mr. I). W. James 
has just presented to the city of New York 
is a valuable contribution to the artistic 
wealth of the metropolis. The story of its 
origin can be briefly told, and is interesting 
as showing how in a democratic country like 
ours individual citizens perform the work 
which elsewhere is done either by the com¬ 
munity or by some holder of power and 
state. 

About five years ago three of our well- 
known citizens happened to meet in a Ger¬ 
man hotel. They spoke of art and of public 
works, and finally the conversation took a 
practical turn. They discussed the project 
of a drinking-fountain, which should at the 
same time contribute to the physical com¬ 
fort of the people, teach a lesson of religion, 
and foster an appreciation of art. The idea 
thus struck out in social converse has re¬ 
sulted in the work which now embellishes 
Union Square. The suggestion of this foun¬ 
tain came from Mr. D. Willis James, who 
formally presented it to the city, as repre¬ 
sented by Mayor Grace. The address on 
the occasion was delivered by another of 
the party of thi-ee, Professor J. Leonard 
Corning. He related how, in the perplex¬ 
ities attending the practical solution of the 
question which the three friends had pro¬ 
posed to themselves, recourse was had to 
the well-known art critic and historian, 
Li'ibke, of Stuttgart. By one of those 
strange pieces of good fortune which some¬ 
times occur, Adolf Donndorf was present at 
the first visit paid to Liibke’s studio. This 
young artist had just removed from Dresden 
to assume the position of head of the De¬ 
partment of Sculpture at the Art Academy 
of Stuttgart. “ Here is the man you are 
looking for,” said Liibke to his American 
visitor, and in a few moments it was settled 
that he should make a clay model of a foun¬ 
tain for the inspection of the gentlemen who 
intended to erect one. Donndorf is a pupil 
of Rietschel, whose fame is identified with 
the memorial of Luther in the city of 
Worms. The master had barely completed 
the plan of this great work, and modelled 
the central figure, when death called him. 
The task of carrying out his ideal fell to 
Donndorf. 


The clay model prepared by Donndorf 
’ was exhibited, as “a design for a fountain 
in New York,” in the Art Academy of 
J Stuttgart, and was approved by our fellow- 
citizens who had undertaken to erect it. In 
1877, a contract was signed for the execu¬ 
tion of the work within a period of two 
years and a half. “ Like many another 
work,” said Professor Corning, “which has 
been the fruit of conscientious toil rather 
than mercenary ambition, it lingered long 
beyond the allotted time, and thus fulfilled 
a moral mission superadded to its intended 
one, to wit, a large discipline of exemplary 
patience and faith.” This delay, however, 
arose from no negligence on the artist’s part, 
but from his desire to faithfully execute a 
1 work which, for truth to nature and con¬ 
scientious attention to detail, should he as 
fit for a museum as for a public park. Every 
single figure in the group in Union Square 
represents a living model. The motherly 
instinct made visible in the emblem of Char¬ 
ity is the leading idea of the composition, 
and the sculptor’s own wife and child stood 
1 for the bronze mother with the baby on her 
arm, while the little one trotting by her side 
is taken from a boy whom the Swabians re¬ 
garded as a model of grace. Other delays 
than those arising from the artist’s consci¬ 
entiousness occurred to keep back the com¬ 
pletion of the work. The plaster model in 
the foundry gave way, and months were re¬ 
quired to restore it. Again, when the mod- 
| elling of the entire group was nearly com¬ 
pleted, disaster came. The frost of the severe 
| winter of 1879-80 penetrated the artist’s stu¬ 
dio, and one morning Donndorf found the 
clay on which he had expended two years 
of toil, lying, a heap of shapeless lumps, on 
! the floor. But he bravely resumed his work, 
and in the course of this summer the bronze 
group and postament arrived on our shores, 
whither the granite pedestal from Sweden 
had preceded them. 

The beautifully modelled group which 
crowns the fountain has, it is true, no 
claim to originality of conception ; it takes 
its place in a long succession of designs hon¬ 
ored by ancient tradition and approved by 
the verdict of mankind. Beautiful as a work 
of art, the symbolism of the group is singu¬ 
larly appropriate to this beneficent contri¬ 
bution to the physical comfort of the people. 
It may be regarded as a symbol of Christian 
kindness and charity leading thirsty souls 
and weary hearts to the living fountains of 
refreshment, and as such it will be looked 
upon with admiration and gratitude. The 
example of Mr. James is well worthy of 
imitation. 

Josh Billings says that “a good doctor 
is a gentleman to whom we may pay three 
dollars a visit for advising us to eat less and 
exercise more.” 











80 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


MIRTH. 

“A little nonsense now and then 
Is relished by the wisest men.” 

He came in, and taking a seat at the desk, 
asked, “Well, what shall I write about?” 
The editor told him he had better right¬ 
about face. 

A gentleman once remarked to a witty 
lady of his acquaintance that he must have 
been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. 
She looked at him carefully, and noticing 
the size of his mouth, replied, “ I don’t doubt 
it; but it must have been a soup-ladle.” 

A “three-year-old” discovered the neigh¬ 
bor s liens in her yard scratching. In a most 
indignant tone she reported to her mother 
that Mr. Smith’s hens were “ wiping their 
feet on our grass.” 

In a hairdresser’s shop at the East End of 
London, a bill was exhibited in the window 
recommending a certain patent medicine, 
with the very dubious heading: “Try one 
box—no other medicine will ever be taken.” 

A little three-year-old girl, while her 
mother was trying to get her to sleep, be¬ 
came interested in some outside noise. She 
was told that it was caused by a cricket, 
when she sagely observed: “Mamma, I 
think he ought to be oiled.” 

“Your husband requires rest,” said the 
doctor, as he came from the sick-chamber. 
“ He will soon be Avell— he has a bad attack 
of tickerosis.” “ Tickerosis, doctor; why, 
that’s a new disease, isn’t it?” “Yes, quite 
new—it is caused by watching the tickets in 
the broker’s offices. It affects the optic 
nerve and the spinal column.” — Boston 
Journal. 

TREACLE SOAP. 

BY M. JUNEMANN. 

To make this kind of soap there is re¬ 
quired merely the ordinary plant of a soap 
works, i.e., pans heated by naked fire or 
wooden vats heated with steam. 

All kinds of oils and fats may be used, but 
the author prefers oleine, that is, the oleic 
acid obtained from the manufacture of stear- 
ine. One hundred parts of treacle are put 
into a pan, and twenty-eight parts of soda- 
ash are stirred in. When the soda is com¬ 
pletely dissolved in the treacle, 100 parts of 
oleine, previously heated, are run in, letting ' 
the carbonic acid from the soda escape by 
degrees, to prevent loss from running over. 
When all the oleine has been added, the mix¬ 
ture is quickly raised to a boil. 

The operation is quickly finished, and ten 
tons of soap can bo made in the space of two 
hours. It is sufficient to keep up the boil¬ 
ing till a sample taken is found free from 
bubbles of carbonic acid. The soap congeals 
in a harder or softer state, according as the 


boiling has been kept up for a longer or 
shorter time. One hundred parts of treacle 
yield from 210 to 225 parts of hard soap. 

For soft soap the inventor proceeds in the 
same manner, using potash instead of soda. 
The yield is 215 parts. 

For a common soft soap he uses 100 parts 
treacle, 100 parts oleine, 10 potash, 10 soda, 
and 50 water, and obtains 250 parts of soap. 

For a very hard soap, he dissolves in the 
treacle caustic soda, and stirs into it cocoa 
oil, previously heated to 1G7° Fah. One 
hundred parts of treacle and 100 parts of 
, cocoa oil yield in this case 200 parts of very 
I fine hard soap. 

Or, 100 parts of cocoa oil may be mixed 
with 36 parts of caustic soda-lye at 62° Tw., 
and 50 parts of treacle. The two latter in¬ 
gredients are first brought together, heated 
to 226° Fah., and the cocoa oil, previously 
heated to 167° Fah., is then gradually 
stirred, and complete saponification is very 
rapidly effected without boiling. 

Other fatty bodies may be saponified in 
the same manner, but a prolonged boiling is 
requisite. All the treacle soaps dissolve 
readily, lather well, cleanse powerfully, and 
I come in cheaper than ordinary soaps of an 
equivalent quality. 

[To understand this extraordinary inven¬ 
tion, we must remember that the treacle from 
beet-root sugar, as met with on the Conti¬ 
nent, is unfit for human consumption, and 
can be had consequently for a very low 
price. We do not in the least doubt that 
the treacle soaps will dissolve well and froth 
well, but we do not see how an addition of 
treacle can increase the cleansing power of 
a soap, especially when forming nearly fifty 
per cent, of its composition. It is certain, 
that unless every trace of treacle is com¬ 
pletely rinsed out, the goods must retain a 
sticky feeling, and must be likely to take up 
dirt very rapidly, and retain it obstinately. 
Dyers, bleachers, woollen manufacturers, 
etc., if they use this soap, will do well to be 
exceedingly cautious .—Chemical Review.'] 


LIQUOR. 

The liquor question is one of such vital 
importance, we wonder our citizens are not 
more agitated about it. We may safely 
conclude that not one-tenth of the temper¬ 
ance people of Pennsylvania take any in¬ 
terest in the “ Tee-total-Prohibition Law” 
now before the Legislature, and yet of the 
$65,000,000 annually spent for raw material, 
this State pays one-tenth to give to the 
drinking public “Jersey Lightning” and 
“Lager Beer.” We read that in Potter 
County, since there is no liquor trade, the 
criminal courts meet year after year only 
to adjourn, because there aro no criminals to 
be tried, the jails are empty, and the alms¬ 
houses have few inmates. The love of liquor 


or “drunkenness,” is, we believe, a disease, 
and could the millions expended for one 
year in spreading the disease be appro¬ 
priated to curing this disease, how remark¬ 
able would be the results. Ho more station- 
houses, no more insane asylums, no more 
vagrants, and no prisons. Of all the 
scourges, drunkenness, war, famine, disease, 
drunkenness counts the most victims. 


[From the Cincinnati Enquirer.] 

A WOMAN’S LOVE. 

A sentinel angel, sitting high in glory, 
Heard this shrill Avail ring out from purga¬ 
tory : 

“Have mercy, mighty angel. I tear my story. 

“I loved, and blind with passionate love, I 
fell; 

Love brought me down to death, and death 
to hell; 

For God is just, and death for sin is Avell. 

“I do not rage against His high decree; 

Hor, for myself, do ask that grace shall be; 
But for my love on earth Avho mourns for me! 

“ Great Spirit, let me see my love again, 

And comfort him one hour, I wore fain 
To pay a thousand years of fire and pain.” 

Then spake the sentinel angel: “Hay, repent 
This wild vow; sec the dial fingers bent 
Doavd to the last hour of your punishment.” 

But still she Availed : “ I pray you, let me go ! 
I cannot rise to peace and leaA T e him so; 

Oh ! let me soothe him in his bitter avoo !” 

The brazen gates swung suddenly ajar, 

And upward, joyous, like a rising star, 

She rose, and vanished in the ether far. 

But soon, adoAvn the dying sunset sailing, 
And like a wounded bird her pinions trail¬ 
ing, 

She fluttered back Avith broken-hearted Avail¬ 
ing. 

She sobbed: “ I found him by t he summer 
sea 

Reclined, his head upon a maiden’s knee! 

She curled his hair and kissed him; Avoe is 
me!” 

She wailed: “How let my punishment be¬ 
gin ; 

1 have been fond and foolish, let me in, 

To expiate my sorrow and my sin.” 

The pitying angel answered: “Hay, sad 
soul, go higher; 

To be deceived in thy true heart’s desire 
\Y ere bitterer than a thousand years of fire.” 















\ 





81 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


LET US COUNT THE COST OF RUM. 


HUM vs. EDUCATION IN THE UNITED 
STATES. 


EDUCATION. 

Schools in the United States. 141,029 

Teachers. 221,042 

Pupils. 7,209,938 

Annual Expenses for Education. 195,402,720 

HUM. 

Retail Liquor Sellers in the United 

States. 146,115 

Annual Cost of Liquors in the States 
and Territories. $715,575,000 

Recapitulation. 

Pum . $715,575,000 

Education. 95,402,720 


Rum over Education 


$620,172,274 


RUM vs. RELIGION IN THE UNITED 


STATES. 

RELIGION. 

Clergy in the United States. 83,037 

Church Members. 11,459,534 

Sunday-Schools. 20,856 

Sunday-School Scholars. 3,754,293 

Annual Contributions for Religion.. $47,636,495 

RUM. 

Retail Liquor Sellers in the United 

States. 146,115 

Men and Women in the United 

States who drink Liquors. 18,000,000 

Number per annum killed by Rum.. 60,000 

Rum Retailed in one year in the 

United States. $715,575,000 

Annual Contributions for Support 
of Religion. 47,636,495 


Rum over Religion. $667,938,505 


Recapitulation. 

Religion—Annual Contribution, per 


capita. 

Education—Annual Contribution, 

$1.11 

per capita. 

Rum—Annual Contribution, per 

2.02 

capita, over. 

17.00 


RUM vs. NECESSARIES OF LIFE. 

Total invested in the Manufacture 
and Sale of Alcoholic Liquors in 


the United States. $2,000,000,000 

Total Crop Wheat, Rye, Oats, Corn, 

Barley, Buckwheat, and Potatoes, 

in the United States, in 1877. 1,111,820,575 


Rum Interests over all. $888,179,425 


WHAT RUM AND TOBACCO COST. 


Three drinks a day, at 10c. each, for one 

year, is. 

Three cigars a day, at 10c. each, for one 

year, is. 

One spree per year, ranging from $10 to 
$50, will at least average. 


$109.50 

109.50 


20.00 


$239.00 


This sum per annum between the ages of 
twenty-one, when one enters upon ac¬ 
tive life, and fifty, when his business 
and family is or should he established, 

. . $2,919.00 

per cent, compound interest on this 
sum is, reckoning the increase year by 


Total expense in money. . $10 119 21 i 

, • | 

Ry the process of' compounding on the orig¬ 
inal sum, as practised by the savings-banks, 
where the money squandered might have 
been deposited, this sum, $10,119.21, would 
amount, at different periods during the 
twenty-nine years, to the following sums: 


At twenty-five years. $608.07 

At thirty years. 1,507.26 

At thirty-five years. 4,636.47 

At forty years. 6,976.95 

At fifty years. 10,119.21 


TO THE PROFESSIONAL MAN. 

It would purchase an excellent elementary 
library at twenty-five; it would purchase or 
furnish a comfortable home at thirty; it 
would give a handsome sum for investment 
at forty ; it would purchase an estate or life 
annuity at fifty. 

TO THE FARMER. 

It would buy stock and farm tools at 
twenty-five; it would buy a good hill farm 
at thirty; it would buy a No. 1 farm at 
forty; it would buy farm, improved stock, 
and abundant furniture, tools and conveni- j 
cnees or yield income to pay help at fifty. 

TO THE MECHANIC. 


than waste in this way buy you a splendid 
suit in a year ? 

Stop now and COUNT Til H COST. 

Don’t you spend at least 9c. a day for 
cigarettes? Here, then, is what this 
habit costs in money in five years. $188.27 


THE LITTLE GRAVE. 

“ I T ’ S only a little grave,” they said, 

“ Only just a child that’s dead ;” 

And so they carelessly turned away 
From the mound the spade has made that 
day. 

Ah ! they did not know how deep a shade 
That little grave in our home had made. 

I know the coffin was narrow and small, 

One yard would have served for an ample 
pall; 

And one man in his arms could have borne 
away 

The rosebud and its freight of clay. 

But I know that darling hopes were hid 
Beneath that little coffin lid. 

I knew that a mother had stood that day 
With folded hands by that form of clay; 

I know that burning tears were hid, 

“ ’Neath the drooping lash and aching lid;” 
And I knew her lip, and cheek, and brow. 
Were almost as white as her baby’s now. 

I knew that some things were hid away, 

The crimson frock and wrappings gay, 

The little sock and half-worn shoe, 

The cap with its plumes and tassels blue; 

An empty crib with its covers spread, 

As white as the face of the sinless dead. 


It would buy a kit of tools, and pay house 
and shop rent at twenty-five; it would pay 
for the house at thirty ; it would fill the 
house with comforts, and the shop with new 
machinery at forty; it would increase the 
business, and make the man a manufacturer 
at fifty. 

TO ALL HEADS OF FAMILIES. 

It would give the start in housekeeping at 
twenty-five; it would furnish the house, buy 
the piano, and pay school bills at thirty; it 
would be a reserve fund for sickness and all 
bad luck at forty; it would educate the son at 
college or the girls at the seminary at fifty; 
and in each case it would be the foundation 
for an honorable, cheerful, and prosperous 
life. 

TO YOUNG MEN AND BOYS WHO SMOKE 
CIGARETTES. 

Will you count the cost of this foolish and 
ultimately dangerous habit? How many 
packs do you smoko in a day ? Ilow many 
matches do you waste in a day in lighting 
them? How many people (who tolerate you 
hut do not respect you for this habit) do you 
annoy as you whiff your poison smoke in 
their presence ? Will not what you worse 


’Tis a little grave, but, oh, beware! 

For world-wide hopes arc buried there; 
And ye, perhaps, in coming years, 

May sec, like her, through blinding tears. 
How much of light, how much of joy, 

Is buried with an only boy! 


Turner, the eminent artist, was the son 
of a barber, whoso specialty was a “penny a 
shave.” The boy had a natural taste for 
colors. His earliest efforts with very rude 
tools was drawing the emblazoned arms on 
a lordly mansion. A gentleman sitting in 
his father’s shop was struck with his genius, 
and presented him with a box of paints. He 
; worked steadily and alone in his father’s 
garret. A painter gave him six cents a night 
: for washing in India ink. The result of that 
! eninurement followed him through life. His 
own words are: “I loarned to earn guineas 
by that midnight toil. I never slobbered 
over my work because I was ill-paid. When 
I worked at all I worked well. I was not 
toiling for a living when I got six cents a 
night; I was learning to be an artist.” The 
softness that marked Turner’s work was 
acquired by those nights of drudgery. 


Yearly cost, 

11 















































82 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


[From tho Saturday Review.] 

QUEEN ANNE’S SON. 

While the fact of Queen Anne’s decease 
is one of the best known truths of history, 
most people who have passed the age of ex¬ 
aminations do not remember that she had 
any son at all. Yet Queen Anne, or, to be 
more accurate, the Princess Anne, was the 
mother of seventeen children, of whom only 
one survived to the age of eleven. This was 
the little Duke of Gloucester. A servant of 
the duke, a Welshman named Jenkin Lewis, 
wrote a little memoir of the child which is 
now very rare, or, rather, not to be obtained 
at all. Macaulay, “who had seen almost 
everything which related to the reign of 
William III.,” never mentions it, though Ma¬ 
caulay lived for many years at Holly Lodge, 
near Camden House, where the little Duke 
of Gloucester passed most of his limited time 
in this world. Mr. W. J. Loftie has just 
reprinted Jenkin Lewis’s tract, with a brief 
introduction. The little book has a pathetic 
sort of interest; the details of the young 
duke’s life are quaint and amusing, and, as 
there are but two hundred and fifty copies 
of the volume, the fresh edition is likely soon 
to become as scarce as the old one. 

William, Duke of Gloucester, was born on 
the 24th of July, 1689. He was a child of 
that stormy year of the Revolution, when 
the Princess Anne chose to follow her hus¬ 
band and the rising sun rather than to go 
with her father and the declining luminary 
of the House of Stuart. The baby was a 
very weakly child, and most people forecast 
his early fate. Ilis first experiences of life 
took the shape of “ convulsion-fits,” and “ all 
encouragement was offered for any one who 
could find a remedy for convulsion-fits.” 
Though these were the days of Dr. Radcliffe, 
a belief in amateur physicians seems to have 
possessed the minds of the royal parents. 
Just as in a fairy tale, when the king offers 
half his kingdom to the person who will heal 
his daughter, people crowded the court with 
their private nostrum. “Among the coun¬ 
try women that attended, Mrs. Pack, the wife 
of a Quaker, came from Kingston Wick, with 
a young child in her arms of a month old, 
to speak of a remedy which had restored 
her children.” Prince George chancing to 
observe that the wife of a Quaker was a 
healthy-looking woman, Mrs. Pack was ap¬ 
pointed to be the prince’s nurse. The prince 
recovered from his fits, the nurse it was that 
died, some years later. On this sad occa¬ 
sion the Duke of Gloucester displayed his 
early possession of a royal quality. “The 
queen asked him if he was not sorry that 
his nurse was dead. He said, ‘No, madam,’ 
for at this early ago he had the faculty of 
forgetting even his greatest favorites when 
out of sight.” 

In 1693 he suffered from an ague; but Dr. 


Radcliffe prescribed the Jesuit’s Powder 
(quinine), of which the duke took large 
quantities “most manfully.” For the re¬ 
mainder of his eleven years his Royal High¬ 
ness incessantly played at soldiers, and dis¬ 
played a becoming ambition and martial 
temperament. For what were princes born 
but the glorious game of war? The little 
duke could conceive of no more noble exer¬ 
cise, and (after a brief interval of wishing to 
be a carpenter or a smith) was drilling his 
servants’ sons, and planning fortifications, 
and vaporing with sword and pistol all day 
long. The faithful Lewis told him anecdotes 
of Caesar, Alexander, and other martialists, 
and even learned fortification, to win the 
favor of the little duke. 

The little duke’s first guards were twenty 
boys from Kensington, accoutred with paper 
caps and wooden swords. In 1694 he was 
breeched, and, being displeased with the fit 
of his garments, ordered his guards “ to put 
the taylor on the wooden horse, which stood 
in the presence-room, for the punishment of 
offenders, as is usual in martial law.” At 
this time his Royal Highness’s toes “ turned 
out as naturally as if he had really been 
taught to do so,” a grace which charmed all 
who were acquainted with his person. 
Though active and lively, be was always 
ailing, and seems never to have been able to 
go up and down stairs without help. At 
one time he conceived that he could go no¬ 
where without two people to hold him, and 
he persisted in this fancy till his father ex¬ 
plained to him, and illustrated with cuts, the 
nature and properties of the birch. But this 
seems to have been the only time that he 
was whipped, and his poor little life was a 
happy one enough. The queen quarrelled 
with Princess Anne in a sisterly way, and 
deprived her of her guard. The little duke, 
who was exercising his boy soldiers at Ken¬ 
sington, ventured to tell her Majesty, “‘that 
his mamma once had guards, but had none 
now,’ which, it was said, surprised the queen 
a good deal.” The king gave the boys 
twenty guineas; and, sad to tell, the Prae¬ 
torians waxed wanton. “ They were very 
rude, presuming upon their being soldiers; 



ton to London, which caused many com¬ 
plaints.” Such are the defects of the mili¬ 
tary character and the dangers of a standing 
army. 

At that time the “ Scots Dragoons” were 
reviewed by the king in Hyde Park. “ They 
were as good troops,” says Jenkin, “as 
ever 1 saw; with caps, and fuzees, and 
great basket-hilted swords, very long.” The 
duke observed these swords with interest, 
and commanded his cutler to make him a 
claymore, with which he would “swagger 
about the presence-room.” With these mar¬ 
tial tastes the little duke combined an unaf¬ 


fected aversion to the exercises of religion, 
which, says Bishop Burnet, “ he understood 
beyond imagination ;” nor could he be in¬ 
duced to attend family prayers. The church, 
therefore, lost less than the army, it may 
be, by his death. His memory was good, 
but he mainly used it in learning the terms 
of war, by land and sea. lie even thought 
out a very notable stratagem whereby to 
disconcert boarders in a naval battle. “When 
we are at sea,” he would observe, “ I will 
cannonade my enemies and then lie by; so 
make them believe they may board us. I 
will send a boy up to the top-mast to let 
fall from thence a bag of pease, that when the 
enemy come to board us they will fall down 
by means of the pease, and I and my men 
will rush from the corners of the ship and 
cut them to pieces.” In this young gen¬ 
eral’s opinion, the countries which a British 
commander should aim at subduing are 
France, Hungary, and Turkey. Had he 
lived, he meant to conquer them in detail, 
nor has the feat yet been accomplished by 
the forces of the House of Hanover, now 
happily settled on the throne which the 
young duke did not survive to occupy. 
When invested with the Garter he said, 
“Lewis, if I fight any more battles, I will 
give harder blows now than ever.” And he 
really thought, by being Knight of the Gar¬ 
ter, he ought to become braver and stouter 
than heretofore. 

But, alas! the “ Tres haut, Tres Puissant, 
et Ti •es Ulustre Prince, Guillaume,” grew no 
stouter. The ceremonial of his eleventh 
birthday, July 24, 1700, left him “fatigu’d 
and indispos’d.” On the 26th he was hot 
and feverish. They bled and blistered the 
child, and he died in a delirium on the 30th of 
July. Ilis funeral was stately, and was at¬ 
tended by Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, his 
tutor-in-chief. It had been arranged that 
Burnet, while acting as tutor, should spend 
no less than ten days yearly in his diocese. 
He had read the Psalms, Proverbs, and Gos¬ 
pels to this careless little prince, and had for 
two years conversed with him about geogra¬ 
phy, and “ the forms of government in every 
country, with the interests and trade of that 
country, and what was both good and bad 
in it. . . The last thing I explained to him 
was the Gothic constitution, and the bene¬ 
ficiary and feudal laws.” Possibly all that 
learning wearied the child, yet he seems to 
have preserved his lively spirit to the end. 
A harmless, bloodless soldier; a despot who 
only scolded his maids; a child, dwelling 
always in fantasy, and rehearsing for the 
great comedy in which he was never to play, 
his story is more touching, we think, than 
fictitious romances about the deaths of pre¬ 
cocious infants. Mr. Loftie’s little volume 
is one that Thackeray would have delighted 
in; it is like a royal version of Dr. John 
Brown’s “ Pet Marjory.” 










PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


83 


THOUGHTS FOR SATURDAY NIGHT. 

Casual thoughts are sometimes of great 
value. 

Self-reliance is quite distinct from self- 
assertion. 

An honest reputation is within the reach 
of every one. 

We cannot do evil to others without do¬ 
ing it to ourselves. 

Kindness is the golden chain by which 
society is bound together. 

It is the lot of genius to be opposed, and 
to be invigorated by opposition. 

How can we expect a harvest of thought 
who have not had a seedtime of character ? 

People seldom improve when they have 
no other model than themselves to copy 
after. 

Fortune does not change men; it only 
unmasks them and shows their true char¬ 
acter. 

By taking revenge a man is but even 
with his enemy, but passing it over he is 
superior. 

When you have occasion to utter a re- 
buke, let your words be soft and your argu¬ 
ments hard. 

It is with our good intentions as with our 
day : to-morrow is but too often the hash 
of to-day. 

The pebbles in our path weary us and 
make us footsore more than the rocks, which 
require only a bold effort to surmount. 

Work is a necessity in one way or another 
to us all. Overwork is of our own making, 
and, like all self-imposed burdens, is beyond 
our strength. 

Hover permit the most resolute curiosity, 
or the most friendly concern, to find the 
lowest depth of your character. Gain the 
reputation for reserve power by reserving it. 

Ho man can lift himself above the world 
unless he takes hold of something higher 
than the world; he can’t lift himself out of 
himself unless he grasps something higher 
than himself. 

Death is simply the process by which God 
is preparing His children for their eternal 
city in the kingdom above. Death is only 
laying aside the garments of childhood that 
we may be ready to put on the garments of 
manhood. 


THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

BY n. W. LONGFELLOW. 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree 
The village smithy stands; 

The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 
Are strong as iron bands. 


Ilis hair is crisp, and black, and long; 

His face is like the tan ; 

His brow is wet with honest sweat— 

He earns whate’er he can, 

And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
You can hear his bellows blow ; 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
With measured beat and slow : 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
When the evening sun is low ; 

And children coming home from school 
Look in at the open door: 

They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar, 

And catch the burning sparks that fly 
Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys; 

He hears the parson pray and preach ; 
lie hears his daughter’s voice, 

Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice : 

It sounds to him like her mother’s voice, 
Singing; in Paradise! 

He needs must think of her once more, 
How in the grave she lies; 

And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 
A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing, 

Onward through life he goes; 

Each morning sees some task begin, 

Each evening sees it close: 

Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night’s repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
For the lesson thou hast taught! 

Thus at the flaming forge of life 
Our fortunes must be wrought; 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped, 

Each burning deed and thought! 


[From Our Second Century.] 

FORGOTTEN. 

How we dread to be forgotten. W e shrink 
from the thoughts of death, for we know 
that in a little while our places will be filled 
with others. Esteemed, respected, and loved 
as we may be, a score of years finds little 
else but a tombstone faithful to our memory. 
Men whoso intellect and genius are the ad¬ 
miration of the ago meet this common des¬ 
tiny, and ere the moss creeps half-way up 
the marble slab that tells his name, the 
cypress and the ivy on the old church wall 
sigh out and ask—who was he ! It is pleas¬ 
ant to be remembered, and how sweet are 
the assurances that come to us from loved 


ones who are far away. “ Do they think of 
me at home?” is the heart inquiry of many 
who are separated by land and by sea from 
the associations of their childhood. The 
desire to be remembered seems a part of the 
human heart, and there are little pages in 
the households of our land made sacred by 
loving friends who have inscribed in their 
many ways the simple —“ Remember me.” 

We love to be remembered, but how it 
crushes the heart to think we are forgotten 
by those we hold most dear; to think that 
the plighted vows of those we love are so 
soon forgotten; that the mother, who bids 
her daughter God speed on her bridal day 
after l'eceiving the fondest expressions of 
filial devotion, should be forgotten ; that the 
father, bowed by the weight of yeai's and 
needing the helping hand of the boy he 
started on a successful career, should be for¬ 
gotten. Memory is ungrateful to the living, 
but forgetfulness is natui’al after death, for 
the faces of the living soon out-face the 
dead. As we drop into the great ocean of 
eternity the little ripples of memory soon 
cii’de out of sight, and should we leave 
“ footprints on the sands of time,” he who 
made them is soon foi’gotten. J. M. F. 


NO ONE LIKE A MOTHER. 

A poor old woman lay upon her sick-bed 
in a close, uncomfortable room, with a 
daughter and little grandchild to take care 
of her. But whom do you think this aged 
woman called for all the time, and longed to 
have come and nurse her ? It was “ mother” 
—her own mother. “ Oh, thei’e is nobody 
like mother to take cai’e of you when 3-011 
are sick,” she said. A person present asked 
how long; her mother had been dead. “About 
fifty years, I reckon,” she answered. 

Do 3 r ou think }-ou will remember }-our 
mother’s loving care for fifty years? Ho 
doubt 3 T ou will, if God spares )’our life. You 
majr think but little of it now, but 3 7 ou will 
think a great deal of it then. This woman’s 
children and grandchildren had grown up 
about her, but her heart reached back over 
all that waste of years, to the time when 
she was a child at her mother’s side. It was 
for “Mother, mother,” that the poor bo}-s in 
tent and hospital called and prayed when, 
sick and wounded, the)- were laid down to 
die. Oh, there is nobod) T like a mother in 
love and care for us. What return are 3-011 
making oveiy day for all she does for 3-011? 
Do your feet run willingly to her bidding, 
as soon as it is known? Do 3-011 try to save 
her trouble, and lighten all her burdens? 
Oh, nothing in this world can do it so effec¬ 
tual^- as to know that her children are 
growing up good and noble, and useful in 
the world. 












84 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


OUR BOYS. 

W hat outlook can be fraught with more 
loving anxiety than the one from which 
parents endeavor to guide the future of their 
hoys ? IIow carefully and expectantly each 
step is watched from childhood through the 
years of careless youth, the burden increas¬ 
ing as they pass through the portals to man¬ 
hood, and into the whirl of business. 

It may he that the father has looked for¬ 
ward to the time when his son should 
worthily till the position which he is ready 
to vacate for him, surrounded by the respect 
and honor which hard work and energy have 
obtained ; hut how often is the dream rudely 
broken by the son who is willing to accept 
all without a thought of repay, and strolls 
into the office at nine or ten o’clock, when 
seven found his father there. Three sees 
him out driving, while the one who has been 
the means of procuring so much for him finds 
the press of business detaining him until 
late at night; but we are happy to draw a 
striking contrast to this in the young man 
who steps nobly into the niche carved for 
him, and endeavors by energy and perse¬ 
verance to make himself felt in the business. 
Let nothing interfere—business before pleas¬ 
ure, always found early and late at the post 
where he is most needed—these are they who 
will be sure to stand on the pinnacle of suc¬ 
cess, and reap golden harvests from a well- 
regulated life. It gives us pleasure to ac¬ 
knowledge the acquaintance of a number of 
young men in business who have accom¬ 
plished much by perseverance and energy. 

In New York we have Mr. J. C. McCreery, 
merchant, corner Broadway and Eleventh 
Street, whose store is one of the most attrac¬ 
tive in the city, and his collection of dress 
goods is magnificent. 

A. Weber, piano manufacturer, Sixteenth 
Street and Fifth Avenue. We advise all lov¬ 
ers of music to try these instruments before 
purchasing elsewhere, as for sweetness of 
tone and easy action they cannot be sur¬ 
passed. 

F. C. Decker, of the firm of Decker & Son, 
is one of our young business men of New 
York, and the pianos from this establishment 
are remarkable for sweetness of tune. They 
make a beautiful upright piano which is 
suitable for small rooms. 

Mr. Edward Knox, hatter, Twenty-third 
Street and Broadway, imports the finest line 
of goods to he found anywhere. 

Mr. Charles Acker, grocer, Fifty-seventh 
Street and Sixth Avenue, has lately built a 
new store, and it is well worth a visit from 
those who wish to deal where they will be 
sure to procure the best for their money. 

Mr. George W. Jones and Mr. Walter Jones, 
dry-goods merchants, Nineteenth Street and 
Eighth Avenue, have a very fine stock of dry 
goods. None can fail to he suited. 


Mr. Frank Loutrel, stationer, 45 Maiden 
Lane, has a large assortment of goods in his 
line, from the most delicate-tinted note to 
the most useful wrapping-paper. 

Mr. C. A. Sherman, merchant, on Wall 
Street, New York. 

Mr. James W. Quintard, of the Charleston 
Steamer Line; Mr. John E. Gopsill, of Jer¬ 
sey City, the youngest postmaster ever ap¬ 
pointed in the United States, and Mr. Dudley 
Olcott, vice-president of the Mechanics’ and 
Farmers’ Bank, Albany, are all holding posi¬ 
tions usually filled by men many years their 
seniors, and this is due to their steady and 
persevering energy. 

In Philadelphia, too, we have our young 
merchants, foremost among whom are Mr. 
Harry &C. W. Sharpless, 801 Chestnut Street. 
If you wish to purchase Christmas presents, 
you will find in this establishment the most 
magnificent India shawls ever brought to this 
country; also ladies’ suits and furs. 

Homer & Colladay, 1414 Chestnut Street, 
have a very large stock of hosiery, and for 
silks and laces you need go nowhere else, for 
their collection includes all styles and prices, 
and now is the time to buy your presents for 
Christmas and New Year. 

James D. Caldwell, jeweler, 902 Chestnut 
Street. As the New Year approaches, per¬ 
haps some pet cousin would like a handsome 
watch or other keepsake. You cannot choose 
amiss from his splendid collection. 

S. D. Sollers & Co., shoe manufacturers, 
417 Arch Street, can supply you with shoes 
which, while they are a neat, elegant fit, are 
perfectly comfortable. * Nothing could he 
more welcome for a New Year’s gift. 

Mr. John Sloan and Mr. William Sloan, of 
the firm of McCallum, Crease & Sloan, 1012 
and 1014 Chestnut Street, where you will 
find a magnificent assortment of carpets, 
with beauty and durability combined. 


LONGFELLOW AT BOWDOIN. 

Longfellow entered college at the begin- 
ningof the sophomoi‘e year, and was at once 
prominent in his class for his finished recita¬ 
tions, genial and gentle manners, refined 
tastes, and exquisite poetic gift,—for some of 
his sweetest short productions were written 
and published while he was in college. One 
of the class recalls a poetical composition of 
Longfellow’s on the Seasons, in which the 
poet’s tender and graceful imagination finds 
full play. After fifty years, the classmate 
remembers the lines: 

“ bummer is passed, and Autumn, hoary sire, 
Leans on the breast of Winter to expire.” 

1 here was a musical club in collogo of 
which Longfellow was a member. His in¬ 
strument, very appropriately, was the flute. 
One can but fancy that the echoes of that 


“ concord of sweet sounds” have floated 
down to us, blending with the harmonious 
measures of his verse. 

The Commencement programme of 1825 
contains this announcement: 

“Oration: Native Writers, 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 
Portland.” 

The original subject was “The Life and 
Writings of Chatterton,” but that title is 
erased, and “Native Writers” substituted in 
Professor Cleaveland’s handwriting. When 
he selected that first subject, did the young 
poet dream of those golden days when his 
successors would discourse of the life and 
writings of Longfellow, and his fame, like 
Dante’s, be “ blown about from all the height, 
through all the nations?” After Longfel¬ 
low’s name in the triennial catalogue, are 
recorded the degrees he has received from 
Bowdoin, Harvard, Cambridge, and Oxford 
Universities, together with the list of his 
professorships and titles of membership in 
certain historical societies.— Scribner. 


THE PATH TO SUCCESS. 

The path to success, though no smooth 
thoroughfare, 

Is forbidden to none, ’tis as free as the air; 
Yet many who boldly set forth on the track, 
Ere the journey’s half o’er shrink ignobly 
back. 

For the phantom of failure oft looms on the 
sight, 

Whose terroi’s unreal the timid affright, 

And obstacles many a wayfarer daunt, 
Which those who persist rarely fail to sur¬ 
mount. 

By efforts spasmodic success is ne’er won, 
But only by plodding untiringly on, 

Those who lag by the way ever seek it in 
vain; 

They alone, who keep moving, the end can 
attain. 

For when to a halt lack of energy leads, 
The bourne of success from the traveller 
recedes; 

More remote it becomes at each needless 
delay; 

And on Hope’s far horizon at length fades 
away. 

Even Genius, unbacked by a resolute soul, 
Must ever fall short of the coveted goal. 
Where plain Mediocrity often arrives, 
Because for its object it ceaselessly strives. 

Then be earnest, undaunted, if you’d win 
success; 

Along the rude pathway unceasingly press; 
Let no obstacles stay you, no hardship ap¬ 
pall, 

If defiant of failure, you’ll not iail at all. 













PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


85 


[From Grace Greenwood’s “Notes From Over Sea.”] 

COPPET AND MME. DE STAEL. 

One morning we spent at Coppet, a lovely 
old place, still redolent of Mine. De Stael, 
thronged with memories, though possessing 
few mementos. It belongs to her grand¬ 
son, the Due de Broglie. The walks in the 
grounds are exceedingly beautiful, though 
almost too shadowy and solitary. You feel 
the sunshine she so loved ought to be let 
into those avenues here and there, and that 
gay wits and beauties should be strolling 
through them, as in her time, and in that of 
her brilliant father and beautiful mother. 
The place seems somewhat in mourning for 
them all. The chateau has a venerable and 
rather dilapidated appearance. To our dis¬ 
may, the butler, a stout and imposing per¬ 
sonage, refused us admittance to the house 
to behold the family pictures and busts, on 
the ground that the De Broglies had com¬ 
pany. But he finally melted in the warmth 
* of our tearful entreaties, as such a buttery 
butler should, and at lunch-time, after recon¬ 
noitring a little, to see that the coast was 
clear, led us slyly and softly up the great 
stairway and into the grand salon. lie made 
a couple of francs by that piece of obliging 
disobedience. The Meeker and De Stael 
busts and portraits are in this room, but one 
scarcely regards anything but a large pic¬ 
ture by David—a powerful magnetic portrait 
—Corinne hei'self, with her grand head, her 
rich red lips, and those great lustrous, lam¬ 
bent eyes — proud and not tender, yet with 
something sacred in them—the vestal fire of 
genius, “new every morning, and renewed 
every evening.” 

Mine. De Stael was buried in the family 
vault within a chapel on the estate, a short 
distance from the house, standing in the 
midst of a large grove of trees, surrounded 
by a high wall. Mo stranger can gain ad¬ 
mittance ‘ to the chapel, or draw nearer 
than that wall to the tomb of genius, if 
ever so tearfully and reverentially inclined. 
We were obliged to stand on tip-toe on a 
stone-heap in the park to obtain a glimpse 
of a gloomy little edifice thickly overgrown 
with ivy and darkly shadowed by trees. 
The wild, untended look of the shrub¬ 
bery reminded one of the grounds about 
the enchanted palace of the Sleeping Beauty, 
and I thought that almost as profoundly 
asleep and forgotten as was the fairy prin¬ 
cess is her fame in this generation, this 
proud Augustan age of woman’s genius. 
Still it seems sad that she who lived in 
the rush and the sound ol great events, 
in the light of glory, in the glow of ad¬ 
miring affection, should in death be walled 
and curtained away from the world in such 
utter silence and shadow and solitude. It 
was at Coppet, I believe, that Mine. De Stael 
contracted her second marriage with the 
chivalric and devoted young De Rocco — a 


union apparently most unsuitable, but really 
happy—a strange idyllic dream of what 
might have been — a brief unseasonable sea¬ 
son of romance and love—the Indian summer 
of the heart. 


FINGER NAILS. 

Hardly any personal peculiarity is more 
noticeable or more indicative of character 
than finger nails. There are some who be¬ 
lieve that palmistry, or the reading of char¬ 
acter from the hand, can be reduced to a 
science, just as much as phrenology. If so, 
it would necessarily be an obscure science to 
the majority of people, but the signs of char¬ 
acter indicated by the finger nails may be 
read by all with a little study. In the 
first place, the shape of the nail is very 
significant. The slender, tapering nail, of a 
rose-pink hue, with a shell-like, transparent 
edge, is always the accompaniment of a re¬ 
fined nature. Broad, stubby nails, of a yel¬ 
lowish-white color, and with opaque, muddy- 
looking edges, indicate natural coarseness, 
though they often accompany great good 
nature, while the other variety frequently 
goes with a sharp, shrewish temper. The 
care of the nails is one of the most revealing 
marks of personal habits, and of the most 
important of the toilet. Mails may be greatly 
improved, both in shape and color, by proper 
attention. The best appliance is a nail-brush, 
used in water softened by the addition of a 
little borax and really fine toilet soap. In 
well-brushed and well-cared-for nails the lit¬ 
tle curtain-like rim which surrounds them is 
well pushed or rolled back, displaying gener¬ 
ally a delicate little crescent at the root. 
The skin of the finger should never be al¬ 
lowed to grow up on the nail. In paring 
and trimming the shape given should always 
be as long an oval as possible. To cut a nail 
square off gives the finger a stubby look. 
The corners should be carefully and closely 
cut, and the centre left rather long, so as to 
give the long oval shape. In cleaning the 
nails the knife should never scrape off the 
inner substance of the nail, as this renders 
the edge opaque and muddy in appearance, 
whereas it should be transparent. The nail 
is susceptible of a high degree of polish by 
rubbing with the towel when drying the 
hands. The habit of biting the nails is one 
against which children should be carefully 
guarded. It is ruinous to every structure 
of the nail, and once acquired is one of 
the most difficult habits to break. This is 
evidenced by the fact that some men and 
women, more especially men, have a habit 
of biting their nails when reading or study¬ 
ing, of which they are perfectly unconscious. 
Not a few lawyers and clergymen occur to 
mind whose nails are almost deformed as a 
result of this habit. 


THE VOICE OF THE OLD BELL 

WORDS BY WELLESLEY BRADSHAW. 

MUSIC BY J. S. THOMPSON. 

Ring out, ring out, you dear old bell; 

The nation gathers ’round, 

With happy, grateful hearts, old bell, 

To hear your voice resound 
Once more, as in the days gone by, 

When our sires, brave and true, 

Taught us, their sons, how heroes die 
For Freedom rung by you. 

Chorus —Ring out, etc. 

For Freedom rung by }mu, old bell, 

Whose iron tongue called forth 
The Minute Men from hill and dell, 
Throughout both South and North. 

, So now, old bell, from East to West, 

From Florida to Maine, 

Raise your loud voice (of all the best) 

To welcome Peace again ! • 

Chorus —Ring out, etc. 

To welcome Peace again, old bell, 

Palmetto State and Pine 
Will join your chorus, proud old bell, 

As in the auld lang syne! 

Then send your voice to other lands, 

To tell them o’er the sea, 

We’ll welcome them with outstretch’d hands, 
To share our Liberty! 

Chorus —Ring out, etc. 


Preserved Fruits, of all kinds, should be 
kept entirely secluded from the air and in a 
dry place. In ranging them on the shelves 
of a store-closet, they should not be suffered 
to come in contact with the wall. Mois- 
j ture in winter and spring exudes from 
| some of the driest walls, and preserves in¬ 
variably imbibe it, both in dampness and 
taste. It is necessary occasionally to look 
at them, and if they have been attacked by 
mould, boil them up gently again. To pre¬ 
vent all risks, it is always as well to lay a 
brandied paper over the fruit before tying 
down. This may be renewed in the spring. 
Fruit jellies are made in the ratio of a quart 
of fruit to two pounds of sugar. They must 
not be boiled quick, nor very long. Practice 
j and a general discretion will be found the 
best guides to regulate the exact time, 
which necessarily must be affected, more or 
less, by local causes. 

To Clean Carpets. —To remove grease 
spots from carpets with potter’s clay, wet 
with cold water to a thick paste, and spread 
on the carpet with several thicknesses of 
heavy brown paper tacked over it, to be 
1 left a week and then brushed oft'. If not 
entirely removed, apply again. It never 
| fails when properly used. 



















86 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON KISSING. 

A lady friend has transmitted to “Our 
Second Century,” 27 Union Square, New 
York, the following “Opinions of the For¬ 
eign Press” upon the subject of the text 
which tells you that Jacob kissed Rachel 
and lifted up his voice and wept: 

“ If Rachel was a pretty girl, and kept her 
face clean, we can’t see what Jacob had to 
cry about.”— Daily Telegraph. 

“IIow do you know but that she slapped 
his face for him?”— Ladies’ Treasury. 

“Weeping is not unfrequently produced 
by extreme pleasure, joy, happiness; it might 
have been so in Jacob’s case.”— ITardwicke’s 
Science Gossip. 

“The cause of Jacob’s weeping was the 
refusal of Rachel to allow him to kiss her 
again.”— Nonconformist. 

“ It is our opinion that Jacob wept because 
he had not kissed Rachel before, and he wept 
for the time he had lost.”— The City Press. 

“ The fellow wept because the girl did not 
kiss him.”— Pall Mall Gazette. 

“ Jacob wept because Rachel told him to 
‘ do it twice more,’ and he was afraid to.”— 
Methodist Pecorder. 

“Jacob cried because Rachel threatened 
to tell her mamma.”— Sunday Gazette. 

“ He wept because there was only one 
Rachel to kiss.”— Clerkenvoell News. 

“He wept for joy because it tasted so 
good.”— Jewish Chronicle. 

“We reckon Jacob cried because Rachel 
had been eating onions.”— British Standard. 

“ Our own opinion is that Jacob wept be¬ 
cause he found, after all, ‘ it was not half 
what it was cracked up to be.’ ”— New Zeal¬ 
and Examine-her. 

“ A mistake,—not his eyes, but his mouth 
watered.”— The Ladies' Chronicle. 

“He thought it was a fast color, and wept 
to find the paint come off.”— Fine Art Ga¬ 
zette. 

“He remembered he was her uncle, and 
recollected what the Prayer-Book says.”— 
Church Journal. 

“ He was a fool, and did not know what 
was good for him.”— Englishwoman’s Adviser. 

“ He knew there was a time to weep,—it 
had come, and he dare not put it off.”— 
Methodist News. 

“ He thought she might have a big 
brother.”— Sporting Journal. 

“ Because there was no time for another.” 
— Express. 

“ When he lifted up his voice he found it 
was heavy, and could not get it so high as 
he expected.”— Alusical Notes. 

“He tried to impose on her feelings be¬ 
cause he wanted her to lend him five shil¬ 
lings.”— Baptist Guide. 

“ A truce to all! Beneath the starry vault 
or golden sun is there aught in nature or art 
equal to the rapture and intense delicious¬ 
ness of the first kiss? I answer verily, No. 1 


Jacob had never kissed fair maiden before, 
and his first realization of ‘crowding a life’s 
deliciousness into these moments’ overcame 
him, and ho wept for joy.”— Hornsey Hornet. 

“Jacob had never pitched his tent in the 
village of New York, consequently was not 
prepared. It was the shock did it, or else 
he wept because life was too short to allow 
of sufficient repetitions.”— Our Second Cen¬ 
tury , 27 Union Square , New York. 


[Written for Our Second Century.] 

JOURNALISM. 

Perhaps, in this country, there has been 
no example of rapid growth which has sur¬ 
passed that of our press. No phase of lit¬ 
erature, since the introduction of the first 
news-letter, has come into more intimate 
contact with the mass of the people. Its 
influence is wide spread and potent. The 
cultured and the uncultured alike feel a de¬ 
light in the knowledge that without undue 
labor and thought, the current, stirring 
events of the world are their own. The 1 
prevailing, living opinions of the greatest 
men of the present day are theirs to discuss. 
In fact, we interview the existing world, 
which is a very different thing from inter¬ 
viewing the dead and gone. The present 
mind keeps pace with, and even anticipates 
the present events. The favorite courtier 
of a popular queen was assassinated in the 
open court. When? Two or three hundred 
years ago. We read of it with feelings but 
slightly stirred, philosophize upon the influ¬ 
ence of such events in general, on certain 
phases of society, and drop the subject. 
We take up the morning paper. Our Presi¬ 
dent has fallen at the hand of a traitor; or a 
prominent cabinet minister has been im¬ 
peached ; or an insult has been offered our 
honored banner. Like the pibroch to the 
old Highlander of Scotland,—like the bugle 
note to our modern soldier, strikes the mes¬ 
sage against the heart of every loyal man. 
This is life—this rouses us to a realization 
of the need of immediate thought and action. 
In truth, this intercommunication forms an 
artery leading to the pulsing heart of the 
nation. Items of news then, of themselves, 
have a great effect, particularly upon the 
common, unlettered class, whose desire for 
sensation and excitement is thereby fed. 
How great then the necessity, in this respect 
alone, of accuracy! Let us have the truth 
and nothing but the truth: for how directly 
can we trace the effect of this misrepresen¬ 
tation on the minds of the mass! False¬ 
hood and exaggeration find here their food. 
But beyond this, and more important than 
all, is the moral tone of the editor’s page. 
In these progressive and independent times, 
let the politics of a journal be what they 
will, provided they are real, no one can ! 


stay the course of free speech ; but when 
they savor of “ malice aforethought ”—when 
the object is the attainment of popularity, 
whether by fair means or foul; when there 
exists the desire to follow the opinion of the 
majority, regardless of principle; where we 
find the greatest blackguardism, the most in¬ 
excusable slander,—then we should, as benev¬ 
olent creatures, cry, “ Hold !” For how great 
is this universal influence! How powerful 
the ultimate effect upon our nation! It is 
estimated that there are published in 
America 6500 weekly and daily papers. 
Apart from politics and news, how grand 
the vista of art and science! What greater 
field could be entered by our cultured phi¬ 
lanthropists to-day, than that of journalism ? 
The disinterested, moral editor hath it within 
his power to banish prisons and reformatoiy 
schools; he can hasten the millennium in 
that way more efficiently than by founding 
orphan asylums or preaching the gospel. 
It would appear that it has not always been 
considered as necessary that the editor of a 
paper should be of great intellectual ability. 
Our pioneer issues of news were edited by 
the successive postmasters of the town. 
Our first successful newspaper, The Boston 
News-Letter, edited in 1704, had for its editor 
one John Campbell (postmaster). To our 
mind, the man who sends out such bulletins 
of information and thought cannot possess 
too fine a moral and intellectual calibre. 
The words of a celebrated French political 
writer, Mallet du Pan, on the “ Rights of 
Man,” might be aptly chosen as a proper 
and benevolent creed by all espousers of 
parties and writers of politics. He says, 
“The Gospel has given the simplest, the 
shortest, and the most comprehensive dec¬ 
laration of the Rights of Man in saying, 

‘ Do unto others as you would that they should 
do unto you.’ ” All politics hinge upon this. 


COUNTING BABY’S TOES. 

Dear little bare feet, 
Dimpled and white, 

In your long nightgown 
Wrapped for the night— 
Come, let me count 
Your queer little toes, 
Pink as the heart 
Of a shell or a rose. 

One is a lady 

That sits in the sun ; 
Two is a baby,— 

And three is a nun. 

Four is a lily, 

With innocent heart; 
Five is a birdie 
Asleep in her nest. 




























87 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


SCENERY AND BUMPS. 

In Nevada, recently, two rival coaches 
started out on parallel roads, each four-team 
on the gallop. The New Yorker being the 
only passenger in one coach, took a scat 
with the driver. lie endured the first five 
miles very well, as the road was pretty 
smooth, but he finally carelessly observed,_ 

“ This pace is rather hard on the horses, 
isn’t it?” 

“ Oh, no ; they are used to it. I haven’t 
begun to swing ’em yet!” was the reply. 

“ If we were going a little slower I could 
enjoy the scenery much better.” 

“ Yes, I s’pose so, but this line isn’t run on 
the scenery principle.” 

That ended the conversation until the 
horses turned a corner, and the stage rode 
around it on two wheels. Then the Yorker 
remarked,— 

“ I suppose you sometimes meet with ac¬ 
cidents ?” 

“ Almost every day !” was the brief reply. 

“Isn’t there danger of something giving 
way ?” 

“ Of course, but we’ve got to take our 
chances. G’lang there!” 

At the end of another mile the passenger 
controlled his voice sufficiently to inquire,— 

“ What if we shouldn’t reach Red Hill at 
exactly two o’clock ? I am in no hurry.” 

“No, I s’pose not, but I’ve got to do it or 
lose ten dollars.” 

“ How ?” 

“I’ve cot an even ten bet that I can beat 
the other stage into Red Hill by fifteen min¬ 
utes, and I’m going to win that money if it 
kills a horse!” 

“ Say, hold on!” exclaimed the other, as 
he felt for his wallet, “I like to ride fast, 
and I’m not a bit nervous, but I do hate to 
see horses get worried. Here’s twenty dol¬ 
lars for you, and let’s sort o’ jog along the 
rest of the way, and get a chance to smoke 
and talk about the Indians.” 

“ Whoa, there ! Come down with you— 
gentle now—take it easy and don’t fret!” 
called the driver as he pulled in and reached 
for the greenbacks with one hand and his 
pipe with the other, and thereafter the New 
Yorker had more scenery and less bumps. 


WEARY. 

Somehow the thought to-day 
Seems sweet to me, 

That should a still voice say, 
“ I’m calling thee,” 

As ne’er before I’d go 
Like one all blest, 

Glad to be chosen now 
And know the rest. 

Glad, for the burdens grow 
Heavy to bear; 


Over the night of woo 
No dawn breaks fair; 

For climbing upward ways 
Still, still I fall; 

And when my voice would praise 
Grief hushes all. 

Not that the work is done 
God gave to me; 

Not that through victories won 
From sin I’m free; 

But on life’s thorny road 
Peace is unknown, 

I’ve weary grown. 

Weary, 1 want to rest 
Close, close by Thee, 

And with the happy blest 
Thy face to see; 

With them to sine aright 
Thy dear, dear love; 

All sin, and grief, and night, 

Far, far above. 


[Editorial from Our Second Century.] 

OUR FINANCES. 

The most casual observer, even though he 
takes but little interest in our national finan¬ 
ces, cannot but be pleased with the success¬ 
ful termination of two of the greatest finan¬ 
cial movements in our history—the resump¬ 
tion of specie payments and the payment of 
the war loan. When the papers announced 
that all the outstanding five-twenty bonds 
had been called in for redemption, most 
newspaper readers passed it over with a 
glance, or perhaps felt a sense of satisfaction 
that our finances were in a good condition, 
which fact was soon forgotten when items 
of general interest absorbed them. And yet 
to the thoughtful it must have recalled the 
circumstances under which they were issued: 
the hopes, fears, and disappointments, the 
trials and sufferings, which came with each 
victory or defeat, for the war had fairly be¬ 
gun and the people appealed to for money 
to carry it on. All talk of settling the con¬ 
test in three months had ceased, and the 
wise men had reluctantly come to the con¬ 
clusion that the rebellion was far too formid¬ 
able to be overcome by a few hard blows, 
and must be worn out. It was a grave ques¬ 
tion whether the patriotism and patience of 
the North would not wear out first. The 
loans from banks and the issue ol treasury 
notes could no longer meet the needs of the 
government, and the courageous step was 
taken of appealing directly to the people to 
supply the money as they had supplied the 
men. The new loan was authorized, redeem¬ 
able after five years and payable in twenty 
with interest at six per cent, in gold, and 
the bonds in denominations of fifty dollars 
and upwards, so as to place them within the 
reach of all classes. The people made a 
noble response to the appeal, and wealthy 


citizens bought the bonds by thousands and 
tens of thousands, men of moderate means 
by hundreds, and poor farmers and mechan¬ 
ics put their little savings in the fifty-dollar 
bonds, glad to do a little towards helping 
their country. Patriotism alone led to the 
purchase of the bonds, for in those days the 
future was doubtful, and the enemies of the 
Union prophesied that they Avould never 
be worth the paper on which they were 
printed. The first issue of the bonds does 
not fall due until 1882, but they have all 
been paid as well as the subsequent issues. 
Every one of them has been paid, principal 
and interest, in gold, and the promise of the 
government, made when they were issued, 
has been fulfilled to the letter. We cannot 
revert to the fact without a feeling of pride 
and thankfulness that wisdom, sagacity, and 
honesty in our financial department have 
combined to produce this happy result. The 
first day of January last was appointed for 
the resumption of specie payments or the 
payment in gold of the paper money of the 
government, which was issued largely as a 
necessity during the war. This move met 
with opposition in all parts of the country, 
and bankers and wise-heads prophesied a 
panic and condemned the policy. The day 
came and specie payment was resumed with¬ 
out a ripple of commotion, and with a larger 
balance of coin in the Treasury at night than 
in the morning. Thanks be to Secretary 
Sherman for his steadfastness and honesty 
of purpose, whose policy, though censured 
and criticised most severely, has produced 
such happy results. They are the achieve¬ 
ment of right method, and all men, without 
regard to party, should acknowledge it. 
Under Mr. Sherman’s supervision and man¬ 
agement these two great results have been 
accomplished, and he has been more far- 
seeing than the noisy multitude who have 
condemned his policy. Prejudice and jeal¬ 
ous} 7 will withhold much of the praise that 
flows naturally from grateful hearts. Praise 
does not flatter great minds, but when with¬ 
held in such a case it amounts to silent 
slander. 

It is a common practice to postpone until 
after death the credit due men while living; 
but we hope, in the name of justice, that the 
veil of prejudice and partisanism may soon 
bo lifted, that men may be justly esteemed 
in life. 


Inks from Carpets. —To remove freshly- 
i spilt ink from carpets, first take up as much 
as possible of the ink with a teaspoon. Then 
pour cold sweet milk upon the spot and take 
up as before, pouring on milk until at last 
i it becomes only slightly tinged with black. 
Then wash with cold water, and absorb 
with a cloth without too much rubbing. 



















88 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


THE LOST CITY OF SHEDAUD. 

AN EASTERN LEGEND. 

A vast, solid gateway, casting a black 
shadow upon the earth under the blistering 
glare of the sunlight; a broken colonnade of 
mighty pillars, supporting arches of cor¬ 
responding size; a tall, slender tower, sur¬ 
mounting a square battlemented wall, along 
the front of which a broad band of that beau¬ 
tiful mosaic of glazed tiles which figures so 
often in Asiatic buildings glitters in the sun 
with all the colors of the rainbow ; a knot of 
swarthy men, in flowing Eastern robes, dis¬ 
mounting from their wiry little beasts to 
smoke and rest in the shade;—such is the 
scene. 

It is high noon in Syria, and the heat of 
the midday sun is pouring down upon the 
unsheltered earth with true Syrian fierceness. 
With the thermometer at 117 degrees Fah¬ 
renheit in the shade, and plenty of time still 
left to ride back to our village before sunset 
(after which, according to the uncourteous 
native proverb, no one goes abroad but a dog 
and an Englishman), why should we not 
“take it easy” a little? 

“Holloa, Ibrahim, my friend! fetch out 
the cooking-tackle, and let’s have some cof¬ 
fee !” 

Ibrahim, a tall, sinewy Arab, with a gen¬ 
uine native face, all eyes and teeth (the latter 
so perfect that they might tempt any den¬ 
tist to take his life on the spot), gets every¬ 
thing ready with wonderful quickness; and, 
stretched at our ease on an ample shawl, in 
the shadow of a projecting battlement, we 
enjoy our coffee and bread as only men can 
who have been in the saddle since daybreak, 
under an Eastern sun. 

“ Ibrahim!” 

“ Howadji (My lord) ?” 

“Suppose we call those fellows yonder, 
and have a talk with them?” 

“Not so, my lord; in this country you 
never know who your company are. A man 
may be like your brother one moment, and 
you may have to pull out your tabanja (re¬ 
volver) to him the next! In these pails every 
man either is a robber or has been one!” 

“Have you been one yourself?” ask I, 
jokingly. 

“My lord speaks truth,” answers Ibrahim, 
taking the question quite seriously. “ For 
five years I was a great robber, but the 
Turkish mounted police (may Allah con¬ 
found them!), and the new highroads, and 
the horse-coaches,* have ruined our trade— 
who can avoid his destiny ? So, that I 
might have bread to eat and tobacco to fill 
my pipe, I turned dragoman (courier).” 

“In order to rob with impunity, oh? 
Well, now, Ibrahim, I know you’ve seen 


*A stage-coach belonging to a French company has 
been running for some years between Iieyrout and Damas¬ 
cus. 


pretty nearly all the ruins in Syria; have 
you seen anything better than this?” 

“Nothing, my lord. This is indeed a city 
of giants; even such a one as the Lost City 
ofShedaud the Proud!” 

“ Shedaud!” echo I, dimly recalling the 
name as connected with some grim old East¬ 
ern legend. “Shedaud! I’ve heard of him 
somewhere. What did he do?” 

“ Surely my lord has heard of the Par¬ 
adise which Shedaud made for himself in the 
land of And ?” 

“ What, the rose-garden of I rem ? I should 
think I had ; but I 've not got the story very 
clearly, and I should be glad to have it over 
again. Let’s hear it; 1 know you can tell a 
story like any hesseh-gou" (professional teller 
of stories). 

Ibrahim, obviously pleased at the compli¬ 
ment, strokes his long beard with a com¬ 
placent air, and, moistening his throat with 
a draught of coffee, begins as follows: 

“Shedaud the Proud was the last kina: 
who reigned over the race of Aud, and in all 
that land there was none godlier than he; 
for it was ever their custom to choose the 
stateliest and strongest man among them for 
their king. And a mighty king was he! 
Whoso named him laid his hand on his 
mouth; and when men spoke of anything 
beautiful, they said, ‘It is like the cities of 
Aud and Thamoud!’ And his name went 
forth to the ends of the earth, till all men 
wondered at him, and said, ‘"Who is like 
unto the great king of the children of Aud?’ 
And so he prospered in whatsoever he put 
his hand to; for the blessings of the evil 
genii, which are curses, were upon him. 

“But in the pride of his prosperity, the 
heart of this son of Eblis (Satan) was lifted 
up unto his own destruction. For lie said 
within himself, ‘There is none like me on 
earth. Why should I not be equal to Him 
in heaven ? His Paradise is hidden from the 
eyes of men; but I will make a Paradise 
unto which men shall come from all the ends 
of the earth, that the name of Shedaud the 
King may endure forever!’ 

“So he sent forth, and called unto him 
skilful workmen from all lands, and such as 
were learned in enchantments,—the cunning 
men of Frangistan (Europe), and the magi- 
! cians of the East, and the black sorcerers 
from the land of Ethiopia, and the wise men 
of Kitai (China). And chiefest of them all 
was Senmaur the Egyptian, a man unto 
whom Eblis bad given power and cunning 
beyond that of mortal man, that ho might 
work the accursed will of his master, and fill 
up the measure of the sins of the race of 
Aud. And lie did so. 

“ For ho built a wall of metal, whose cir¬ 
cuit a swift dromedary would take three 
days to compass,—such a wall as Secunder 
Rumi (Alexander the Great) built along the 
l border of Khorassan to keep back Gog and 


Magog with their giant host. And around 
this rampart he planted trees and bushes, 
and all manner of thorny plants, so thick 
that an elephant could not have broken them 
down, nor a serpent wriggled through them. 
Then within that double barrier—a space in 
which El Rods (Jerusalem) itself and Mecca, 
the mother of cities, would have seemed but 
as wells in the desert—he made gardens, 
whose flowers were as the flowers of the 
Paradise reserved for true believers, and 
whose fruits would revive, with the mere 
scent of them, one over whom Azrael (the 
Angel of Death) had spread his wings. And 
he made stately palaces of marble, with 
roofs of pure gold; and cool baths, over¬ 
shadowed by spreading palm-trees; and 
sparkling fountains that never grew dry; 
and trees whose fruits were gold, and silver, 
and precious stones, such as those which the 
sorcerer, Tubal Cain, made for the giants 
of the elder w r orld before the will of Allah 
buried them in the depths of the earth; 
and forests through which the most skilful 
hunter of the tribe of Aud might have 


roamed for a hundred years without ex¬ 
hausting; the game that filled them. And in 
the midst of all he built a noble city, such 
as the children of Nemroud (Nimrod) reared 
in the beginning of time; and above it rose 
a tower, whose top looked up into heaven 
and met the sunrise while the lower world 
lay yet in darkness. 

“ And when all was finished, Shedaud went 
forth to see his Paradise, in all his might 
and majesty, with his queen by his side, and 
his princes, and his wise men, and his war¬ 
riors around him by thousands upon thou¬ 
sands, like the locusts that descend upon the 
corn when the harvest is full. But lo! as 
he reached the gate, the sun hid his face, 
and all was dim and gray, as when the air 
is heavy with the coming storm; and over 
the whole sky lowered a deep black cloud, 
like the outspreading of mighty wings; and 
in the midst was a face of stern and marble 
beauty, with eyes like the stars that look 
through a stormy sky. And a voice came 
forth, like the blast of the night-wind through 


the ruins of some ancient city; and it said,— 

“ ‘ I am Azrael, the Angel of Death, and as 
thou hast exalted thyself against. God, so 
shalt thou be brought down to the dust, 
even thou and all thy people, like the beasts 
that perish!’ 

“And as he spake, before bis breath the 
king and all his people shrank and withered, 
and fell as falls a caravan when the simoom 
of the desert passes over it. Of all that 
great host, none escaped save the king’s 
bow-bearer, who went back to tell men how 
Allah had punished the evil-doer. 

“Now, it befell that, long after this, in the 
days when the Caliph Moawyah sat in the 
seat of the Prophet, a traveller, who had 
gone astray in lhe desert in the darkness of 















89 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. 


ED’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


night, found himself suddenly in the midst 
of a great city, beside which Mecca and 
Medina would have seemed but as an Arab 
camp. The walls were mighty as they which 
the genii reared at the bidding of Suleimaun 
Hen Daoud (Solomon the son of David), and 
glittering with precious stones; and there 
were fountains in marble basins, and palaces 
beyond all the palaces of Hindustan, and 
gardens whose like was never seen on earth, 
and long rows ot colored lamps, lighting up 
every court and colonnade. 

“ Rut everywhere reigned a dreary and 
awful silence, as the silence of the grave. 
In all the mighty length of that wondrous 
city' no human foot trod, no bird fluttered, 
no insect crept,—not a living thing drew the 
breath of life. And tor hours the affrighted 
man wandered amid this waste of accursed 
beauty, till in his agony he cried for help to 
God; and straightway he saw before him a 
gateway, higher than the minarets of Da¬ 
mascus, and hastened through it, rejoicing. 
But when he turned about, lo ! the city, with 
all its splendor, was gone as if it had never 
been. 

“Then he went and told his tale to the 
caliph, and showed in proof of it the precious 
stones which he had broken from the wall. 
And the caliph sent men to seek the city; 
and they sought forty days, but found it 
not; neither hath it ever been seen again 
since that day. For it was the will of Allah 
that the Paradise which man’s presumption 
had reared should be hidden forever from 
the eyes of man ; and who can resist Allah ? 
My lord, the story is ended.” 

David Ker. 


CARD BASKET. 

The Rev. Dr. McCosh is a grateful Scot. 
He says that his new stone residence at 
Princeton is the finest allotted to any college 
president in this or any other country. 

Superintendent Fairman, of the insurance 
department of New York, is not only an 
editor, and therefore a fair man on general 
principles, but has an editor’s eye for “ the 
eternal fitness of things.” In refusing to 
permit the Littletown (Pennsylvania) .Mu¬ 
tual Relief Association to do business in this 
State, he says that he “ cannot entertain the 
proposition of any life-insurance association 
that insures people from fifteen to eightj^- 
eight years of age.” 

President jpro teni. David Davis, the wealth¬ 
iest member of the Senate ($2,000,000), is 
said to possess such equanimity of temper 
that he wrote some of his most noted judicial 
opinions when his office was filled with ten¬ 
ants, whose questions he answered without 
ceasing to write. The avoirdupois of Senator 
D. is about one-sixth of a ton. 

The will of the late hi. B. Morgan was ad¬ 
mitted to probate at Auburn, New York, on 
12 


October 22. its public bequests are as fol¬ 
lows: To the Presbyterian Church, Aurora, 
$1000; the fourth clause calls for the return 
of $10,000 given to Wells College May 2, 
1881, and gives to the trustees of Wells Col¬ 
lege $100,000, in the same trust, however, 
and upon the same conditions as to expendi¬ 
tures of the income only and keeping the 
principal intact, as accompanied the gift of 
$100,000 to the college made August 12, 
1873, the two sums to be united, and to be 
known as the Morgan Fund; to Richard j 
Morgan, a brother, $20,000; to C. B. Mor¬ 
gan, a nephew, and Frances A. Benson, a 
niece, the interest of $10,000; to C. B. Mor¬ 
gan the store in Aurora; to Henry A. Mor¬ 
gan and N. L. Zabriskie all lands in Michigan; 
to Louise M. Zabriskie the residence and 
other property; to N. L. Zabriskie $25,000; 
to II. A. Morgan $10,000, and certain real 
estate. The remainder of the estate, real 
and personal, to Henry A. Morgan and | 
Louise M. Zabriskie, share and share alike. 

Mr. Jennings, in his last London letter to 
the World, alluding to the Yorktown cele¬ 
bration, says that when London was en fete 
on the occasion of the marriage of the Prince 
and Princess of Wales, a Cockney publican 
announced in his window : “A sandwich and 
a glass of ale for 3d. God bless them both !” ; 
such is the vivacity of the British character. 

Baron Haymerle, the late Austrian Prem¬ 
ier, was an exceptionally fine linguist, speak- j 
ing ten languages fluently. 

It is said that during the coming winter 
President Arthur’s household will be pre¬ 
sided over by an unmarried sister. 

The $2,500,000 given, in 1862, by the late 
George Peabody, as a fund for building 
lodging-houses for the poor in London, has 
been so judiciously invested and managed 
that it now amounts to $3,600,000. 

The constant industry of the late Dr. J. G. 
Holland was one of his marked characteris¬ 
tics. While associate editorof the Springfield 
Republican, he wrote half the editorials, did 
reporting when occasion required, and gen¬ 
erally had a serial story on hand, besides 
delivering his lectures, which were in great 
demand. He was connected with the lie- 
publican for seventeen years. 

Concerning the speech-making peculiari¬ 
ties of senators, it is said that Edmunds and 
Hill never use notes, and that the former is 
said never to have revised a speech during 
his service. Bayard works at his speeches, 
writes them out, and carefully revises proof. 
Lamar is a great reviser, and occasionally 
goes down to the government printing-office 
to look after the proofs. Voorhees prepares 
his speeches carefully, and revises moder¬ 
ately. Jones, of Florida, a hard student, 
labors diligently at a set speech. Beck is 
the most rapid talker in either House, an 


untiring worker, not much of a reviser, and 
as good-natured as Mark Taplcy. 

The widow of Alexander Campbell, the 
founder of the denomination to which Gen¬ 
eral Garfield belonged, is still alive, and is a 
striking-looking woman of eighty. Her hair 
is black, her eyes bright, and her mental ac¬ 
tivity remarkable. She is now engaged on 
a volume of reminiscences of her husband. 

Mrs. James Spurgeon, who died in London 
in October, 1881, was a daughter of the late 
Field-Marshal Sir John Burgovne, and a 
granddaughter of General John Burgoyne, 
who commanded the British forces at Sara¬ 
toga, in 1777. The Rev. C. II. Spurgeon, at 
her funeral, paid a high tribute to her 
character. 

This pleasant and characteristic anecdote 
of the late President Garfield is related by a 
correspondent of the Philadelphia Press. At 
Elberon, a few days before the President was 
shot, he said to Dr. Boynton, who had been 
attending Mrs. Garfield during her danger¬ 
ous illness, “Silas, you have rendered me a 
service which I can never repay. I am not 
going to ask you for the amount of your bill, 
but I am going to have my own way in this 
matter, and insist that you accept this check.” 
It was filled out for a sum not to be counted 
l)}' hundreds. “ You have had your own way, 
James,” replied Dr. Boynton ; “ now I will 
have mine. I shall not accept a cent of this 
money. I am only too happy to have been 
of service to you and yours.” The President 
told this story to the gentleman who relates 
it, while riding to the Soldiers’ Home, near 
Washington. His eldest son. Henry, sat on 
the front seat of the carriage. Turning to 
him, the President said, “ Harry, I want you 
to remember your uncle Silas as long as you 
live.” 

HUMAN LIFE. 

BY MRS. J. M. WINTON. 

After a while—a busy brain 

Will rest from all its care and pain. 

After a while—earth’s rush will cease. 

And a weary heart find sweet release. 

After a while—a vanished face— 

An empty seat—a vacant place. 

After a while—a man forgot— 

A crumbled headstone—unknown spot. 


Moths must be Watched in Winter.— 
Moths will work in carpets in rooms that 
are kept warm in the winter as well as in 
the summer. A sure method of removing 
the pests is to pour strong alum-water on 
the floor to the distance of a half-yard around 
the edges before laying the carpets. Then 
once or twice during the season sprinkle dry 
salt over the carpet before sweeping. In¬ 
sects do not like salt, and sufficient adheres to 
the carpet to prevent their alighting upon it. 







90 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. 


GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


MATRIMONIAL MARTYRS. 

A SERIOUS COMEDY. 

Harry. I am hungry. Can I live another 
half-hour on a cup of coffee? Half an hour! 
I’ll stand it somehow. I’ll starve myself 
every morning for Nora’s sake. I’ll sacrifice 
myself every hour of the day for Nora’s 

sake. I’ll-- I wonder where she got this 

notion of breakfasting in the foreign fashion; 
as if I hadn’t had enough of foreigners and 
their fashions! I did think that when 1 
married I should leave all that nonsense 
with my mother in Paris and come home 
and live like a Briton; and eat ham and 
etjo's at nine o’clock and a muffin—a muffin! 
Oh, but Nora wishes it, and she shall never 
know that I don’t delight in waiting for my 
breakfast till twelve o’clock. Clara Roedale 
would never believe it of me. I always 
knew that marriage would bring out the 
finer parts of my character. I am married, 
and the finer parts of my character are 
brought out. Muffin ! There’s nothing eat¬ 
able about here! One can’t eat coal. A 
paper-knife! No. By George, there was a 
biscuit somewhere—yesterday! Yes—there 
certainly was a biscuit in my greatcoat- 
pocket. I can be cheerful with a biscuit; 
and Nora shall never know what I suffer for 
her sake. 

(Harry goes in search of the biscuit; and 
Nora comes in search of her husband.) 

Nora. Harry! Harry! Where can he 
be? Oh, I am famished, and I am glad of 
it! Harry, it is for your sake that I endure 
these torments. You shall never have rea¬ 
son to say that you resigned the easy habits 
of continental life for the sake of a little 
girl like me. Your friend, Lady Roedale— 
dear Lady Roedale—shall never be able to 
say that I put a stop to a single one of your 
delightful bachelor amusements. A T ou shall 
smoke everywhere. I will beg and implore 
you to go to your horrid club. I will teach 
myself to dote upon your absence. I will 
learn to like tobacco. I will starve myself 

every day till noon. I will- Oh, if I 

could only find the smallest morsel of bread! 
Half an hour more! no, only six-and-twenty 
minutes ! Courage ! That’s Harry’s step. 
With him I could go without breakfast for¬ 
ever. Always meet your husband with a 
smile. That’s Clara Roedale’s golden rule. 
I will smile, if I die for it. 

H. (as he comes in.) Ah, Nora! Why, 
what's the matter, dear? What an odd 
smile you’ve got! 

N. Have I, dear? I was thinking of you. 

H. Thanks, Nora. You don’t know what 
an awful clever dog your Moppet is. 

N. Isn’t he clover? 

II. Fancy his getting a biscuit out of my 
greatcoat-pocket! 

N. Did ho really? The clever darling! 
Are you quite sure ? 


H. I saw the crumbs on the floor. 

N. You speak quite sentimentally about 

it. 

H. Oh, yes; it’s quite pathetic—this sa¬ 
gacity of dumb animals. Isn t it a lovely 
morning? I’ve been round the garden and 
the meadow. 

N. To get an appetite for breakfast? 

II. No,—that is, I’m hungry enough,—I’m 
not very hungry. 

N. Of course not. Nineteen minutes and 
a half! 

H. What, dear? 

N. Nothing. Is there anything in the 
paper ? 

H. I don’t know. 

N. Haven’t you read the paper ? I 
thought that every man began the day by 
reading the paper. 

H. Began the day ! 

N. Don’t you read the papers? 

H. I always read my paper after break¬ 
fast. 

(Here is a pause full of emotion.) 

N. Did you remember to order the car¬ 
riage ? 

H. A"es, dear. 

N. Isn’t it a lovely day for the picnic? I 
am so glad ! I do so love tea on the rocks! 

H. Tea! oh! and a muffin! 

N. What’s the matter, Harry ? 

H. Nothing, dear. I think I feel it less 
if I keep moving. 

N. You do like picnics, don’t you, Harry ? 

H. I am awful fond of picnics. ( Walking 
up and down he murmurs to himself) —Clara 
Roedale wouldn’t believe it of me. Picnics! 
Fancy anybody liking a picnic! 

N. I think it seems better if 1 walk about. 
( Walking up and down she murmurs to herself) 
He sha’n’t be shut up at home with his dull 
little wife; he shall have all the social pleas¬ 
ures to which he is accustomed. Harry, 
dear, were you what they call an ornament 
of society ? 

II. I don’t know. Was I? Nora! 

N. What? 

H. Why are we walking up and down like 
two tigers at the Zoo ? 

N. Is it a riddle, dear? I will try to guess 
it later,—after breakfast. 

II. Breakfast? Breakfast? Yes, that re¬ 
minds me ; it must be nearly breakfast time. 

N. Not quite. Are yop ready for break¬ 
fast ? 

II. Oh, yes, I think so, if you are. 

N. You are sure it’s not too early for you ? 
II. Lot a bit. But you! Would you like 
to have it now, if it’s ready ? 

N. I really think I should,—if you are 
quite sure that you would not like it later. 

II I don’t think so. 

A. (Heroically.) Harry, shall I put it off 
for half an hour? 

II As you please, dear. (He sinks into a 
chair.) 


(Here is a pause full of emotion.) 

N. If breakfast is ready it may be spoiled 
by being kept; and then you wouldn’t like 
it. Shall I go and see if it’s ready? 

II. Perhaps you like it spoiled. 

N. What an idea! (At the door.) —Oh 
how delicious! 

II. (as he joins her.) Isn’t it good? Let 
me go and see if breakfast’s ready. (u e 
goes out.) 

N. lie was an ornament of society. I 
know it. Shall I be so wickedly selfish as 
to deprive society of its most brilliant orna¬ 
ment ? The more I dote on a quiet life with 
Harry and nobody else, the more I hate 
outside people, and dressing up, and dancing 
about,—the more I hate those odious picnics 
with spiders—oh, how afraid I am of a 
spider!—the more certain I am that it is 
my duty to pretend to like them all,—to 
dissemble for Harry’s sake and for the sake 
of society. Yes, Harry, you shall go to a 
picnic every day, if I die for it. I think I 
am dying. I feel thin—very, very thin. I 
think I am going to faint. 

(Here Harry appears leaning in the door¬ 
way, pale and faint.) 

H. Nora! the cook wants to speak to 
you. 

A r . Oh, Harry, is anything the matter? 

H. 1 don’t know. 

(She goes out; he sinks into a chair.) 

If I could get something to eat, some 
breakfast, I could face this picnic. I would 
go cheerfully to a picnic, even to a picnic. 
How I used to long for rest! When I chose 
a little girl in the country, I fancied a sort 
of ballet life,—all cream, and roses, and jam, 
and a cigar under a tree, with sheep about, 
and—and rest. It was like my abominable 
selfishness. Nora has never had any fun. 
Of course, Nora would like to have some 
fun. Of course, Nora shall have some fun; 
and I’ll pretend to like it. Fun! Turning 
round and round in a crowd, and being 
kicked on the ankles! Eating lobster-salad 
and ices at three o’clock in the morning! 
Talking to a girl about another girl’s eyes, 
and staring into hers! Fun!—the tread¬ 
mill’s a joke to it. And yet, all this, and 
more, will I go through for the sake of my 
little Nora—all except that eye business. 
Nora shall taste the pleasures of society; 
and I’ll pretend to enjoy them; by George, 
I will enjoy them ! 

(When his voice has sunk to the depth of 
tragic gloom, Nora runs in.) 

N. Breakfast is ready. 

II Ah! 

(They go away lovingly to breakfast. After 
a while Lady JRoedale is shown in by the Joot- 
man.) 

Lady Roedale. At breakfast, are they. 
Don’t tell them I am here. I can wait. (The 
footman goes away.) It is always easy to 
wait. Perhaps it will amuse me to take the 











I 







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PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


91 


young couple by surprise. There really is 
something funny in } T oung married people. 
They are so delightfully important. I some¬ 
times fancy that I’ve got what clever people 
call a sense of humor. I am sure I smile 
at all these flutterings, and hillings, and 
cooings, and solemn calculations about the 
expense of a nest. The theme’s old as 
Adam, hut the variations are endless. I 
like to sec little mistress adjusting her fads 
to young master’s hobbies; I like this much 
ado about a brace of nothings; I like young 
couples. One must go in for something. 
Susan Lorimer breaks her poor head over 
cracked china; I should puzzle my brain, if 
I had one, over young couples; they are 
quite as interesting to the dilettante. Cer¬ 
tainly I have no reason to like the married 
state. Ugh! but that’s all over long ago. 
I like to view it from outside. I become 
absurdly interested in the marriage of Tom, 
Dick, and Harry—especially Harry. 

Harry was a very nice boy—devoted to 
me. There’s nothing so good for that sort 
of a boy as a devotion to a steady, sensible 
woman—a good, solid, middle-aged person. 
There’s no knowing what might have be¬ 
come of Harry if Susan Lorimer had got 
hold of him before I did. Susan is so the¬ 
atrical—always in the fourth act of the last 
French comedy—on the razor’s edge. It’s 
fun for her; but it might have been death to 
Harry. How, I studied him. I understood 
him. I saw what he was fit for. I just put 
him into shape a little; and I married him 
to the best little girl in the world. I haven’t 
done anything which pleased me so much 
since I married Claude Huntley to that dear 
little thing in Rome. Nothing could have 
turned out better than that. She spoils 
him, and he is not so amusing since his 
temper improved ; but still it’s a great suc¬ 
cess; and he owes it all to me. I have half 
a mind to open an office. It’s quite interest¬ 
ing to make matches. It’s so experimental; 
there’s something quite grand about it; it’s 
patriarchal and biblical; it’s like the ark, or 
fancy poultry. 

II. (as he comes in.) Clara! Lady Roe- 
dale ! 

Lady R. Harry, as you horrid boys say, 
how goes it ? 

II. As we horrid boys say, it simply walks 
in. And what on earth brings you here? 

Lady R. Reasons are tiresome. You 
ought to say that you are glad. 

II. I’m awfully glad. 

Lady R. My doctor recommends the so¬ 
ciety of young people. 1 suppose you know 
that I am antediluvian and ushered the ani¬ 
mals into the ark. 

IT. How pleased Nora will be! Come and 
have some breakfast. 

Lady R. Thank you. I breakfast in the 
morning. 

H. Il’m. I don’t. 


Lady R. You used to be an absurdly early 
creature,—up with the foolish lark. 

II. Ah, yes. But you see Nora likes to 
breakfast at twelve, and so, of course, I- 

Lady R. Of course you ! Oh, Harry, this 
is profoundly interesting. Do you do just 
what Nora likes in everything? 

II. Yes. You didn’t think it of me, did 
you? Y r ou thought all men were selfish, 
didn’t you? Don’t you remember telling 
me that all the men you ever knew—all 
your admirers, you know—dark and fair, fat 1 
and thin, comic and gloomy, the whole lot 
of ’em—all alike in being selfish ? 

Lady R. Yery likely. 

H. Well, look at me. Whatever turns up, 

I simply look at it in one way. I ask, What 
will Nora like? Then I pretend that what 
j she likes is what I like. 

Lady R, H’m. You tell fibs? 

H. One must, you know. 

Lady R. Must one? 

H. Little, unselfish sort of fibs, you know. 

I was in agony for two hours before break¬ 
fast, and I enjoyed it. I remembered where j 
there was a biscuit, and Nora’s infernal little 
; beast of a dog bad eaten it—and I enjoyed 
that! Now we are off to a picnic—and I 
J mean to enjoy that! 

Lady R. My dear Harry, even you must 
have passed the picnic age—ants and indi¬ 
gestion. But, of course, you don’t mean to 
say that you are going off to a picnic when 
I have come to see you ? 

II A r ou must come, too. You know her. 
It’s your friend Mrs. Lorimer. 

Lady R. Susan Lorimer? 

H. She is a friend of yours, isn’t she ? 

Lady R. Oh, yes. I’ve known her for¬ 
ever. She’s a most dangerous woman. You 
must throw her over. 

II. But Nora? Nora’s wild about this 
picnic. 

Lady R. She’s wilder about me. Call her, 
and we’ll see. 

(Ilarry calls her , and she presently comes 
in.) 

JS T . Lady Roedale! Ob, I am glad. Have i 
you come to stay with us? 

Lady R. No, dear; only to spend the day. 

_ZY Oh, I am sorry. How unlucky! Has 
Harry told you about our engagement ? 

II. Yes, and I want her to come, too,— 
you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Nora? I 
thought I was sure you’d like it. 

Lady R. It’s impossible. I couldn’t go in 
these things. 

H. Why, you look stunning. 

N. I am sure that that gown will do per¬ 
fectly. 

Lady R. Thanks, dear. 1 have passed 
the age of gowns that “will do perfectly.” 
Don’t you think you could throw over Susan 
Lorimer for mo? I am sure nobody can 
like her better than me. 

N. Lady Roedale! 


Lady It. Am I too old to be called Clara? 
Your husband always calls me Clara. 

A r . Does lie ? 

Lady R. He always was an impertinent 
boy. Come, my dear, you need not mind 
offending Susan Lorimer; she is sure to 
abuse you any way. You can write a line, 
and say that an aged friend has come unex¬ 
pectedly, and you can’t leave her; and you 
can stay at home and give the aged friend 
some luncheon. 

W. Well, you see, dear, Harry—the fact 
is, I am so afraid that he should give up go¬ 
ing out and seeing his friends. I should like 
to stay at home with you. but Harry- 

II. Oh, I don’t care to go! I mean—if 
you really mean , Nora, that you’d like to stay 
at home, I shouldn’t mind. I should be 
awfully glad to stay at home with Clara. 

N. Oh, Harry! I thought you were so 
eager to go! 

II. Oh, yes, yes—of course—I know I 
said so; but—but you see- 

AT. But what, Harry? 

H. Why, you see Clara’s coming makes 
all the difference. But look here; are you 
quite sure you don’t care to go ? Of course, 
if you care to go—if you care the least bit— 

N. Oh, no! Why should I? Pray don’t 
consider me. 

H. Not consider you ! Why, Nora- 

N. (to Lady Roedale.) Won’t you come up 
to my room and take your things off? 

Lady R. Then it’s all settled. You stay 
with me. I am sure I am doing you both a 
very good turn—by saving you from one of 
Susan Lorimer’s picnics. 

(She goes away with Nora; Harry is left 
alone and in perplexity.) 

II. What on earth is the matter with 
Nora?—“Pray don’t consider me.” Doesn’t 
she know that I spend every hour of the 
day in considering her; that the only thing 
I care for is to do everything to please her— 
to givo up everything to her? Doesn’t she 
know—no, by George ! of course she doesn't 
know. That would spoil it all. I go on the 
principle of doing everything she likes and 
making her think it’s what I like; that’s my 
cunning. Perhaps she really wants to go on 
this infernal chicken-feed. (He goes to Nora 
as she comes in.) Look here, Nora! are you 
sure you’d rather stay at home ? 

N. I am quite content. And you? Your 
conversion was a little sudden. 

II. My conversion! 

N. Just before breakfast you were dying 
to go on this picnic. 

II. Was I ? Oh, yes; but—but you see, 
Clara- 

A". Yes; I sec Clara. Just because she 
comes you care for nothing but staying at 
home with her; you couldn’t bear the idea 
of staying at home with me. 

(Here Lady Roedale comes in; but they don't 
see her.) 




















92 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL 


If. N ora ! By George ! Here! Isay! 
AN hat shall I say! I didn’t want to go. I 
never wanted to go on the infernal picnic. 
I hate ’em. 

If. Then you were deceiving me ? 

II. I pretended to want to go because 
you wanted to go. 

-A. I didn’t think I should be deceived so 
soon. 

H. Nora! 

If. IIow can I toll when you are speak¬ 
ing the truth ? No: I believe you are de¬ 
ceiving me now. You did want to go till 
she came, and now you pretend you didn’t. 

II. Nora, don’t. I say, Nora, don’t. On 
my honor I hate picnics. I was going 
solely for your sake. 

JV. That can’t be true; for I was going 
solely for your sake. 

H. Well then, by George, you were de¬ 
ceiving me! 

N. Oh, it’s too much! Oh, that I should 
be accused of deceiving my husband ! Stay 
at homo since you prefer it; stay at home 
with her—and be agreeable to her; don’t 
stop me! my heart is broken ; oh ! oh ! 
oh ! 

H. Where are you going, Nora ? Where 
are you going? 

If. To the picnic. 

(She goes away without seeing Lady Roe- 
dale ; hut now Harry sees her.) 

H. Good heavens ! Clara! What’s this? 

Lady R. Nothing. 

H. Nothing? 

Lady R. I don’t think you understand 
women. 

II. I thought I did. 

Lady R. Poor boy ; you never will! 

II. What shall I do? 

Lady R. Never tell fibs to your wife. 

II. Oh! 

Lady R. You have been playing the 
Jesuit. 

II. By George, it’s all my fault! I sec 
it all. Nora’s quite right; she’s the best 

and sweetest-tempered-but, oh ! Jjady 

Roedale, I never thought 1 should see her 
in a rage. It’s awful. 

Lady R. Awful! I only wish I could be 
in a rage with anybody. 

II. What ? 

Lady R. Let me see. It must be at least 
ten years since T lost my temper. I should 
like to be angry just for once. 

II. I suppose I don’t understand women. 

Lady R. And never will. 

II. But what am I to do ? I must do 
something. Oh, Clara! don’t you see that 
the happiness of my life is at stake ? 

Lady R. Oh, dear me, you must have been 
reading novels. Men ought not to read 
novels; they take them too seriously. Sit 
down like a good boy and read the paper. 
Yes; I am going to exert myself for your 
sake. I shall be back in a few minutes. 


Now this is almost exciting. It is certainly 
better than china—or chickens. 

(She goes out and leaves Harry alone.) 

H. On the next few minutes may depend 
the happiness of my life. AVhat an awful 
thing this marriage is! And I went into it 
as if T were taking a girl down to supper. 
It’s awful! I thought I knew all about 
Nora; I suppose I knew nothing at all. 
Good heavens! I wonder what she is? 
Good heavens! Fancy me wondering what 
sort of a woman my wife is—my own wife! 
It’s awful! I wonder if any man ever went 
through such an experience before! I have 
married a what-d’ye call it—a phoenix—a 
pelican ; no—those arc insurance offices; a 
sphinx—that’s it—a sphinx. Nora is a 
sphnix! AA r hy did not Clara tell me? She 
knows all about marriages and such things. 
She might have told me it wasn’t all cake and 
satin slippers. Is that a gown on the stairs ? 
How my heart beats! I must be a man! 
I must nerve myself for a terrible scene. 

(lie nerves himself; the ladies come in chat¬ 
ting and smiling ; but Nora's eyes are red.) 

N. Then you really think olive-green 
would be best? 

Lady R. Much the best. 

N. Harry, dear, Clara thinks olive-green 
for the dining-room. I told her you thought 
a Japanesy sort of blue. 

' H. Did I, dear? Blue? Yes, dear—of 
course ; you are so fond of blue, and I- 

Lady R. Harry, did you say blue because 
it is Nora’s favorite color? No fibs! 

H. Yes. 

Lady R. Nora! Is blue your favorite 
color ? 

N. I am very fond of a nice blue. 

Lady R. AYas it your favorite color before 
you married ? 

N. Oh, yes, really and truly, before that. 

Lady R. Before you saw Harry ? 

N. I—I—I don’t remember; I think not. 

Lady R. Harry, turn to the light. I 
thought so. Blue neck-tie! A Japanesy 
sort of blue! He always wears blue neck¬ 
ties. Oh, you young people, how profoundly 
wicked you both are! I can’t preach with¬ 
out food. Won’t you give me some luncheon ? 

N. Oh, yes, Clara= AVhy, you poor dear, 
I forgot; I never thought of it; we’ve only 
just breakfasted. 

Lady R. Oh, dear! And you breakfast 
at this preposterous hour to please Harry? 

N. I don’t mind it; I don’t really mind it 
—much. You see, Harry has lived so much 
abroad, and- 

Lady R. That is enough. Harry, do you 
starve yourself for hours in the morning for 
Nora’s sake ? 

II You know ; I told you ; yes, I thought 
Nora liked it. 

Lady R. Really, it’s an interesting study. 

I suppose I ought to print a “royal road to 
connubial felicity.” 1 wonder if these young 


people are very good or very bad? They 
were making; a great mess of it till I came. 

II. Nora, you are not very angry with 
me ? 

N. Oh, Harry, dear, I will never tell you 
anything but the whole truth. It was all 
my fault. 

H. No, no; it was all mine. 

Lady R. They are both telling fibs again. 
May I ask about that luncheon ? 

N. Oh ! I beg your pardon ; I am so sorry ! 
AVill you have it here? 

II. Why, there’s the carriage; I never 
countermanded it. AVhat was I thinking 
about? 

Lady R. Thinking about! You were 
probably thinking that the happiness of 
your life was at stake. Since the carriage 
is here, suppose we make Harry drive us out 
of the glai'e. I should like to have luncheon 
somewhere in the wood. 

N. Oh, yes; that will be nice! 

H. A picnic ! 

Lady R. No, no; no picnic! Nora shall 
send a little note to Susan Lorimer. No 
picnic ; only luncheon in the open air. 

II. I don’t understand women. 

Lady R. And never will. But we have 
had enough of that little comedy. 

H. Comedy? It wasn’t very funny to me. 

Lady R. It amuses me. But enough is 
as good as a feast—a great deal better than 
one of Susan Lorimer’s picnics. 

N. AVhat comedy do you mean, Clara? 

Lady R. Never mind, dear; it’s finished, 
and that’s always something. I ring down 
the curtain on that little comedy. 


THE TRUE GENTLEMAN. 

AVhen pressed beneath Misfortune’s hand, 
And troubles at his door shall stand, 
However great his need, 

His faith and hope will ne’er depart, 

And patience prove him to the heart 
A gentleman indeed. 

And if position, wealth, and fame 
Unite to honor his good name 
Among his fellow-men, 

AA r ith loving heart and liberal hand 
Amidst the needy he will stand, 

The noble gentleman. 

To raise the fallen, help the weak, 

Distress and sickness he will seek. 

Nor grudgingly he gives. 

He loves to scatter good around, 

And, in God’s service always found, 

A gentleman he lives. 

And when the shades of death draw near, 
He meets the darkness without fear— 

No vain regrets, no sighs; 

He hears his Saviour say, “ AVell dono!” 
He goes to wear the crown he won— 

A gentleman he dies. 















PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


93 


A GIRL’S FIRST LOVER. 

BY HOWARD GLYNDON. 

Others may come after him,—others usu¬ 
ally do come after him, for seldom is it that 
a girl marries her first love,—but to none 
does she ever attach that strange intangible 

O O i 

interest, sacred with never-expressed pathos, 
which attaches to her first sweetheart. Her 
memory of him is like the faint, delicate per¬ 
fume which still clings about that first wild 
rose of summer that he gave her during the 
first tete-a-tete walk that they ever took to¬ 
gether in the woods. How well she remem¬ 
bers it all! It was the first summer after 
she left school. It was a little out-of-the- 
way summer resort, where she was staying 
w T ith a party of friends, and where he chanced 
to come, too, and, after meeting her, lingered. 

She was a little fluttered to find herself 
walking alone with him, quite by accident, 
of course, and both tried to keep up a lively 
and natural conversation, and as a conse¬ 
quence it was perfectly absurd, somewhat 
constrained, and altogether fragmentary. 

Then he saw this rose, the only one upon 
a bush full of buds, that grew close to the 
moss-grown trunk of a fallen tree, just over 
the source of a tiny stream of water that 
w T ound, like a tangled thread, in and out 
among the trees. He gathered and gave it 
to her, with a half-shy, half-laughing look, 
—so transparently conscious in its endeavor 
to be unconscious! and with a remark in¬ 
tended to bo sprightly. 

And she took it, between a blush and a 
smile, with a swift up-look from eyes that 
were busily playing hide-and-seek under the 
becoming shelter of long lashes. 

She tucked it in at the waistband of her 
dress, just as she would have done any other 
rose, but how careful she was not by any 
sudden movement to deflower it of its simple 
circlet of pale pink leaves! 

He does not know—he will never know— 
that as soon as she was alone in her room, 
with the door locked, she drew it carefully 
from her belt, and kissed it daintily, though 
with repressed passion, before she exalted it 
to the position of honor in her pet vase, a bit 
of bijouterie just big enough to hold this one 
flower fitly, and in honor of it filled carefully 
with clear cool water by her own pretty, 
fresh fingers, as rosily tipped as those of 
Aurora in the act of drawing aside the cur- [ 
tains of the dawn. 

What was the unspoken compact between 
them that caused her, standing before her 
glass in her simple white dress that same 
evening, to pose the flower shyly among the 
burnished waves of her hair? 

Will she ever forget how his eyes thanked 
her? Will she ever forget the night on 
which she wore it? Was there ever another 
night like that? Will there ever be again? 

For her: no. For every girl who has yet 


to meet her first lover: yes. There will be 
just one such for each girl, but never 
another. 

Was it the earth she trod on? IIow 
beautiful everything was! As if the world 
were just new-made ! The lights, the music, 
the gay chatter, bright smiles, ringing laugh¬ 
ter! And when she danced with him she 
seemed to have wings to her feet. Then at 
last they were alone together in the cool, 
fragrant, dewy darkness outside; and to be 
together, to be arm in arm, to hear each 
other’s voices,—that was all they cared for. 
There w r as no other world for them that 
night. They were separated from our com¬ 
mon earth by such a swift-flowing tide of 
deep but unspoken delight. Unspoken be¬ 
cause young affection is too sacred for words. 
First love is born dumb, and learns speech 
but slowdy. Deep down in each heart was 
the rapturous consciousness of loving and 
of being beloved by the other, which is worth 
a lifetime of “ I love you’s!” 

It brimmed each heart with a sufficing 
delight, even as a flower-cup is brimmed 
with dew. The sun will drink the dew up 
by and by; even as the world will dry up 
this fountain of innocent gladness. But the 
dew has been in the flower-cup and in the 
girl's heart. First love, whose memory 
never departs! 

The wild rose in her hair was withered 
when she again stood before her glass, with 
flushed cheeks and a new brightness in her 
eyes. But she laid it—as carefully as a 
young mother might lay her first-born in its 
cradle—between two pages of Tennyson, 
upon a poem that he had read to her the 
day before. It rests there still. 

To a careless observer what matters a 
worn copy of Tennyson with a withered 
wild rose pressed between its leaves ? 

But to her it is all that is left, may be, of 
the purest and tenderest romance of a girl’s 
life; it is the first gift of her first lover.— 
Home Journal. 


[For the Children.] 

THE LITTLE DOG UNDER THE WAGON. 

BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER. 

“ Coaie, wife,” says good old Farmer Gray, 
“Put on your things, ’tis market day; 
Let’s be off to the nearest town— 

There and back ere the sun goes down. 
Spot! No, we’ll leave old Spot behind.” 
But Spot he barked, and Spot he whined, 
And soon made up his doggish mind 
To steal away under the wagon. 

Away they went, a good round pace, 

And joy came into tho farmer’s face. 
“Poor Spot,” said ho, “did want to come, 
But Pm very glad he’s left at home; 


lie’ll guard the barn, and guard the cot, 
And keep the cattle out of the lot.” 

“I’m not so sure of that,” growled Spot, 
The little dog under the wagon. 

The farmer all his produce sold, 

And got his pay in yellow gold ; 

Then started home, just after dark— 

Home through the lonely forest. Hark! 

A robber springs from behind a tree, 

“Your money, or else your life!” said he. 
The moon was out, yet he didn’t see 
The little dog under the wagon. 

Old Spot he barked, and Spot he whined, 
And Spot he grabbed the thief behind, 

And dragged him down in mud and dirt; 

He tore his coat, and tore his shirt; 

He held him with a whisk and bound, 

And he couldn’t 1 'ise from the miry ground ; 
While his legs and arms the farmer bound, 
And tumbled him into the wagon. 

Old Spot he saved the farmer’s life, 

The farmer’s money, the farmer’s wife; 

And now a hero grand and gay, 

A silver collar he wears to-day! 

And everywhere his master goes, 

Among his friends, among his foes, 

He follows upon his horny toes, 

The little dog under the wagon. 

LINES WRITTEN BY “E.” 

There is no shadow without a light; 

There is no day but brings a night; 

There is no joy unmixed with pain ; 

There is no sunshine but after rain; 

There is no evil without some good; 

No beauty that is understood. 

The heaviest crosses to our sight 

Arc but given to lead us to the light; 

The darkest clouds have a golden edge. 

And tho fairest gardens a thorny hedge; 

Some fairest flowers give poisonous breath; 

And some deadly poisons save from death ; 

Each soul may reach the lowest deeps, 

And each soul climb the highest steeps ; 

Each heart may know joy’s brightest glow, 

And each the anguish of darkest woe ; 

No battles are won but some have fought; 

No work is done but some have wrought: 

© * 

Cruel words from the lips are carelessly 
tossed, 

But no kind word was ever lost. 

No heai’t so true it cannot be tried; 

Ami none so false but some good will abide ; 
There is none so strong that he cannot fall. 
And none so evil but may rise from it all. 

No soul e’er dropped in the depths of woe 
But might have climbed to the hills of snow. 
The best of gold is mixed with allov, 

And the coarsest metals have some employ ; 
All things are made for some good use— 
And nothing so good but may have abuse— 
God gives us nothing but will do us good, 
And our curses seem kindness when under¬ 
stood. 












94 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


ROMANCE OF THE AST0R8. 

The Astors are an exception to the rule 
that property does not descend to the third 
generation. The style of business introduced 
by John Jacob is observed by the children. 
The origin of the bouse was bumble enough. 
All the Astors know the value of money, and 
never waste it. They do not spend a shil¬ 
ling except under the pressure of necessity. 
The boys never ride when they can walk, 
never call a coach when they can take an 
omnibus, never take an omnibus when there J 
is a street car bandy. They secure a dollar’s j 
worth of merchandise for every dollar’s worth 
of money. The habits of the elder Astor 
were as regular as a Dutch clock. Spirits 
he avoided; three games of checkers and a 
glass of ale crowned the dinner. 

Ilenry, one of the brothers, was a butcher 
in the Bowery. He was a banker in a small 
way, and loaned money on good security. 
John Jacob was an occasional borrower, and 
his brother said to him, “John, I will give 
you a thousand dollars if you will never ask 
me for another loan, and never ask me to 
indorse.” Astor knew a good bargain when 
he saw it, and he accepted the offer. When 
he became known in trade he was a terror 
to merchants, he bought so heavily. A cargo 
of tea was in the market, and a merchant 
saw Astor coming down the dock. He inter¬ 
cepted him and said, “I will give you a thou¬ 
sand dollars, Astor, if you won’t attend this 
sale.” “Send up your check before three 
o’clock,” was his reply, and Astor turned on 
his heel and walked up the dock. 

Mrs. Astor did her part towards making 
the fortune of the house. She was an ener¬ 
getic, clear-headed, and decided woman, an 
excellent housekeeper, and an expert accoun¬ 
tant. She could select a cargo of furs, and 
was often seen, in a plain rig, assorting pelts 
where the Astor House now stands. She 
cared little for society, and less for style. 
She was a member of the old Nassau Street 
Baptist Church, and her house was the home 
of ministers. She heaped logs on the fire, 
lighted the candle, placed cider and apples 
on the table, and entertained her guests. 

John Jacob is the business man of the 
house, lie is a brusque, massive fellow, stout, 
strong, and rugged,—over fifty,—stand¬ 
ing six feet in his stockings. Ilis features 
are coarse, his expression repulsive, and his 
face indicates stolid indifference. He is a 
man of few words, frank, decided, and 
gentlemanly. He can be found in his little 
office on Prince Street—a cross between a 
country store and a bank—attending to his 
immense estate. He is accessible to every 
one. No walking gentleman guards the 
door; no snob demands your business. He 
attends to the work usually assigned to a 
clerk. No lawyer can better trace a chain 
of titles. He knows every tenant in every 
house on his great rent-roll. No tenant can 


place a penny’s worth of repairs on a build- | 
ing without his consent. During the long 1 
lease of the Astor House, not the slightest j 
improvement could bo made without the over- , 
sight of the owner,—putting in a pane of 
glass, mending a lock, or driving a nail with¬ 
out inspection. An incident will show the 
style of business. A merchant refused to let a 
house, at a good rent, because he did not like 
the trade of the tenant. Soon after, a man 
came in and asked him if he had declined 
to rent his house. He said he had several 
houses in the city and would he glad of a 
tenant, and started off to find the applicant. 
That man was William B. Astor. 


A WOEBEGONE LOVER. 

I am down in the mouth, I am out at the 
pockets! 

Ah, me! I’ve no pockets at all; 

And all I have left is a braid and a locket— 

That’s all. 

It was rather solemn ; quite touching, alas! j 
As she got on a stool to be higher, 

I acted, no doubt, the entire jackass— 

Yes, entire! 

Arms and lips came together, and stayed, as 
I reckon, 

With as much as you please of a linger, 

Till a finger was seen at the window to 
beckon— 

A finger! 

We’d forgotten the shutters!—the world was 
forgot, 

Till we saw that sign from her father, 
Which was rather a poser, just then, was it 
not ? 

’Twas, rather! 

He knew I was ruined—all gone to smash! 
And he was a man of that stamp 
, Would call you a scamp if you hadn’t the ' 
cash— 

Ay, a scamp. 

His bonds and investments—not in such 
brains 

As a poet makes up into verses; 
is remarks upon never so beautiful strains 

Were curses! 

called the next day, but the stool was re¬ 
moved, 

And the delicate foot, with a twirl, 
r alked off somewhere with the girl that I 
loved— 

The girl! 

JAMES HARPER’S SET-OUT. 

James Harper founded the house of Har¬ 
per Brothers. He was a rugged, robust, 
healthy boy, and was put to a boy’s work 
on a farm. His parents were respectable, 


hard-working people, and trained their son 
to industry and Methodism. The mother 
was a woman of decided talent and resolute 
piety. I was sitting one day in Mr. Harper’s 
counting-room, on Franklin Square, when he 
gave me the following account of his business 
struggles and life. 

“ It was decided that I should learn a trade, 
and a place was found for me in a printing- 
office on Franklin Square. My mother led 
the family devotions the morning I left home, 
and was deeply affected. As I took my seat 
in the wagon, she came out and said to me, 

‘ James, you’ve got good blood in you. Don’t 
disgrace it.’ Wealthy merchants lived round 
the square, and their sons made fun of the 
printer’s boy. I was especially the object 
of ridicule. They laughed at my dress, my 
shoes, asked me for my card. I kicked one 
fellow down-stairs, and told him that was 
my card, and when he was out of work if he 
would come to me I’d employ him. Twenty 
years after, he came and begged me to give 
him work to keep him from starving. 

“ When I was Mayor of New York a young 
woman called at my office and wanted me to 
give her employment. She was a daughter 
of a wealthy merchant whose sons had ridi¬ 
culed my poverty when I was doing the 
dirty work in the printing-office. She was 
very attractive and very accomplished. She 
had been the belle of the city, and was now 
forlorn, friendless, and an outcast. I begged 
her to return to the society she had once 
adorned. She rose from the seat, looked 
me square in the face, and said, 1 Mr. Harper, 
you are a humane man ; you would help 
me if anybody would. You have daughters. 
I’m thoroughly competent to be their gover¬ 
ness, companion, and instructor. Would you 
place them under my care ? Would you give 
me shelter and a trial ?’ I could not speak 
for a moment. ‘You need not answer,’ she 
replied, Avas out of sight in a moment, and I 
never saw her more.” 


DISCOLORED BRICK WALLS. 

The white saline substance that “comes 
out” upon brick walls, and which has been 
a source of annoyance to a great many, may, 
according to the American Architect , be rem¬ 
edied. In reply to a query on the subject, 
it says, The “ saltpetring” of brickwork can 
generally be prevented by adding oil to the 
mortar, at the rate of a gallon to the cask of 
lime. If cement is used in the mortar, an 
additional gallon of oil must be allowed for 
each cask of cement. Linseed oil is gener- 
allv employed, but any kind which docs not 
contain salt will answer. The incrustation, 
once formed, can be removed with hotAvatcr. 
or by the muriatic acid generally used for 
cleaning doAvn brickwork, but it Avill reap¬ 
pear again by exudation from the interior 
of the wall, and usually leaves a permanent 
black or brown stain .—Scientific News. 
















95 


’RESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


POSSIBILITIES. 

BY JULIA NEILSON. 

“ Man’s work is from sun to sun, 

But woman’s work is never done,” 

wailed poor little Mrs. Anderson, to the tune 
of “ Days of Absence.” Somehow the words 
did not tit in very well, and as she kept time 
in a sort of uneven trot, it so happened that 
the feelings of the fat baby on her knee 
were sadl}^ rutiled, and he gave vent to his 
displeasure in a series of explosive snorts 
and writhings impossible to describe. If he 
really cried there was an hour’s work before 
her, so the tired knee was put in quicker ! 
motion, and she commenced anew, 

“ Man’s work is from sun to sun, 

Dum dum, di di, diddle diddle dee ; 

But woman’s work is never done, 

Dum dum, di di, diddle diddle dee.” 

This happy inspiration was successful. 
Master Tom’s creasy arms ceased to beat the 
air, his plump face grew benign in expres- ! 
sion, and as he sighed in sleepy content¬ 
ment, his mother echoed it in weariness of - 
spirit. 

“ Such a day as this has been !” she mur¬ 
mured. “ Though why I should say trial, I 
don’t know, since it’s like most of mine. Up 
since six this morning, making beds, sweep¬ 
ing floors, tying up Jack’s cut fingers, mend¬ 
ing Fannie’s dress, nursing this baby, trying 
to show Bridget how to do cook’s work, and 
after all having such a horrible dinner that 
John asked if the beefsteak was sole leather, 
and the tapioca a preparation of Spaulding’s 
glue. Sometimes,” she continued, as two 
tears rolled dismally down her wretched lit¬ 
tle nose, “it just seems as if the whole 
world were a burned beefsteak, with a gar¬ 
nishing of stubbed-out shoes, torn trousers, 
and battered noses. I am so tired I wish I 
were a wooden woman.” A light tap at the 
door startled her, and inwardly wondering 
who could be there, she turned in mute 
amazement, and saw a woman much older 
than herself, but fresh and fair, standing on 
the threshold. Tom’s baby visage was not 
more unruffled than her placid face, tran¬ 
quillity seemed to flow from her soft finger 
tips, her double chin was expressive of 
charity with all the world, and Mrs. Ander¬ 
son offered not the least resistance to her 
taking the heavy baby to his crib, and was 
too worn out to care who her guest might 
be, or how she came through the locked and 
bolted front door. 

“Now, my dear,” said the stranger, “I 
want you to pay me a little visit. That 
baby is safe for the night, and you won’t 
have far to go. I have brought a cloak for 
you, and we will start now.” As she spoke 
she wrapped a long mantle around her be¬ 
wildered hostess. They descended the stairs, 
and having reached the piazza, the cloak 
became inflated with air, and both ladies 


floated several feet above the earth. “The 
saints defend us!” groaned Mrs. Anderson. 
“This is a judgment on me for my wicked 
repining. I must be dreaming or going 
mad.” 

Truly, the city was a wondrous sight. 
Carriages, carts, and- cabs whirled along 
without horses or drivers; men, women, and 
children were flj’ing through the air. Street 
sweepers were whizzing along with no one 
to guide them; and much more might have 
amazed the traveller, if she had not at that 
moment alighted with her guide at the door 
of a splendid mansion. Once inside of its 
magnificent portals Mrs. Anderson ceased 
to think of judgments or the Evil One. ( 
What feminine heart could resist the min¬ 
gled charm of paintings and statuary, 
warmth, music, and flowers; furniture that 
only an artist could have designed, and car¬ 
pets whose softness and beauty comforted 
body and mind ? 

“ We will go regularly through the house, 
my dear,” said its placid owner, “ and first 
I’ll show you the kitchen and scullery.” 

What pen can picture the immaculate 
cleanliness of these rooms? Mrs. Ander¬ 
son thought of grimy Bridget, and the 
spoiled dinner, of cold, greasy dish-water, 
and half-washed plates. Here a cook, in all 
the majesty of ribboned cap and white apron, 
poured different ingredients into one end of 
a great machine, while a trim maid at the ! 
other end drew forth the most delicious 
dishes that can be imagined. In the scullery j 
fountains of boiling soapsuds hissed and j 
bubbled, while the very prince of scullions, 
in snowy cap, superintended the dish-wash¬ 
ing. Cellar and laundry, butler’s closet and j 
dining-room, all in the same perfection. 
Library and drawing-room likewise fault- j 
less. 

“We will now visit the school-room, my 
dear,” said the owner of all this magnifi¬ 
cence. “ Three of my children are grown, 
but I have eight in the school-room, and the 
other four are still in the nursery.” 

“ Fifteen children !” cried poor Mrs. Ander¬ 
son, thinking how her own back ached over 
Jack, Tom, and Nannie. “How do you 
manage them ?” 

“ You shall see, my dear, you shall see. 
We are now at the school-room.” 

Globes and maps, compasses and charts, 
made this room a very wilderness of learn¬ 
ing. Eight children, with pointed caps on 
their heads, were reciting as fast as their 
tongues could fly. Dozens of similar caps 
lay on their teacher’s desk. “ They learn by 
a system of mental photography,” said their 
mother. “Professor Solori Solomon, the 
cram-boy, is the inventor of this system, 
lie rubs their heads with this fluid, puts on 
one of these printed caps, and the whole 
contents are absorbed by the brain without 
any further trouble.” 


“I wish 1 had a gallon or two for Jack,” 
thought Mrs. Anderson. 

“ We will now visit the nursery,” said the 
mother, smiling blandly on her offspring; 
and, accordingly, to the nursery they went. 
Dolls ran about the floor, talking for the 
amusement of the two children who could 
walk, while the twin habies lay in the arms 
of women who worked by machinery, and 
whose hair could be pulled to the fullest ex¬ 
tent by the merciless little tyrants. 

“ We are making Ethelinda a Grecian 
nose,” said the mother, alluding to a sort of 
clamp which decorated the face of one of 
the twins. “Her own is a pug; we do not 
admire it. This young lady attends to the 
running of the machinery, but the children 
give her no actual trouble any more than 
they do me.” 

“ But do you never kiss nor cuddle them?” 
said Mrs. Anderson, with a warm throb of 
motherly indignation. “Don’t these dread¬ 
ful machines ever explode ? I don’t see how 
you have the heart to treat your babies so! 

“My dear child,” said the fat lady, “re¬ 
member this is 1976. Hearts are out of 
date. True, in a physical point of view, w r e 
are still obliged to use them, but in the sense 
that you mean, pray, what good did a heart 
ever do a woman? What w r as it? Some¬ 
thing that ached, and throbbed, and quiv¬ 
ered, and burned; that made weary days 
and sleepless nights; that drew harsh lines 
on fair young faces, and dimmed with tears 
young shining eyes. No, no, my dear; 
hearts are relics of dark ages. As to our 
machines, sometimes they do explode; but 
in time we hope to have them so perfect 
that they never will. I have never-” 

But what it was remained a mystery. An 
unearthly shriek and shocking fall ended 
the conversation. 

“Ethelinda’s nose is torn off, or the nurse 
has exploded,” groaned Mrs. Anderson, 
wringing her hands. 

“Anna, dear, you’d better go to bed. Lit¬ 
tle Tom fell off your lap while you were 
asleep,” said John’s hearty voice, and a rush 
of cold winter air blew over Mrs. Anderson’s 
bewildered face. 

“Oh, John! John!” she cried, hugging him 
and the baby together. “The house was 
lovely, but the woman was horrid. I'm 
sorry the beefsteak was burned, and a ma¬ 
chine blew up and killed the baby.” 

“I’m glad I’ll be dead before 1976, and 
Tommy, my blessing, your mother’s got a 
heart.” 

“Go to bed, Anna,” said John, soothingly, 
with an inward resolution never to say any¬ 
thing more about the cooking, since it 
seemed to have turned his wife’s brain. 
Still, ho thought, “ women are strange crea¬ 
tures,—so nervous and excitable. I’m sure 
I could attend to a house and a few children, 
without getting hysterical over it, either.” 









96 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. 


GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL 


MOSES TAYLOR-A STEADY PULL 

.Mr. Taylor is a very rich man, and lias 
made his wealth in trade. lie would lie a 
guide to no one, for not one in a thousand 
could adopt the line of trade that gave him 
a fortune. If money is everything, and is 
to be had at any price, the business life of 
Mr. Taylor will show a young man how to 
get it. Mr. 'Taylor’s father was an alderman 
of tho city, and through him Moses obtained 
the favor of John Jacob Astor. The young 
man began to trade for himself in a very 
small way. lie can to-day open a small 
memorandum book, and show the profit and 
loss of every sale. lie made money in the 
W est India trade. He early entered upon 
the career of a banker, discounting commer¬ 
cial paper at short time at a large profit. 
Independent of his bank and his railroads, 
he keeps a set of books which he writes up 
every night. It is said should his bank 
burn up he could replace all his accounts in 
an hour. He has lived till sixty to make 
money. Horses, yachting, fast living, and 
heated viands have no charms for him. He 
prefers his well-ventilated chamber on Fifth 
Avenue to the sweltering rooms of a summer 
watering-place. He rises early, takes a bath, 
eats a simple breakfast, and is down to the 
bank before bis clerks. After banking hours 
he takes a frugal dinner, takes a bath, then 
a nap, and sits down to work, which closes 
at ten o’clock. 

Mr. Taylor is a shrewd, far-seeing, and suc¬ 
cessful banker. A railroad in the coal re¬ 
gions was earning nothing. There were two 
or three heavy grades on the road, and the 
trains were light. To the surprise of every 
one, Mr. Taylor bought the road. He called 
to his assistance one of the ablest engineers 
of the day. “What will it cost to put a 
stationary engine at those points of the 
road ?” An estimate was made. “ I can 
double the capacity of my freight, can I 
not?” “You can.” IIis dividends the first 
year were a million. .Moses Taylor was a 
born trader, sharp and keen, without sym¬ 
pathy or sentimentalism. He pays a hun¬ 
dred cents on the dollar and expects the 
same in return. He touches nothing out of 
which he does not make money. All who 
confide business to him know that it will be 
well and safely done. W hoever employs 
him has to pay him. 


CLAFLIN A3 A MERCHANT. 

Much of Claflin’s success is due to his good 
common sense. He possesses marked busi¬ 
ness ability, and knows how to fill the ave¬ 
nues of trade. Those who look for him in 
business hours seldom find him in the office. 
His favorite place is on a dry-goods box 
nursing bis log, and talking to a customer 
under his breath. He was never a brilliant 


man, but won by his steadfastness and en¬ 
durance. He began business in Worcester. 
He traded in a small way; bought his goods 
in small parcels, and delivered them with his 
own hands. He courted popularity as a 
trader; kept a sort of people’s store; buying 
closely, and selling at a small advance. He 
brought little capital with him when he 
came to New York. He opened trade in a 
loft in the fourth story of a Maiden Lane 
store. He bought his first bill of goods of 
Winston, now president of the Mutual Life. 
The bill was seven hundred dollars, and 
Claflin always maintained a good mercantile 
credit. He was an excellent salesman, and 
worked his way up alone. He always did a 
large business in proportion to his capital. 
Claflin prided himself more on the quantity 
of goods sold than he did on the profit he 
made. Claflin could outsell Stewart any 
year. But Stewart would make double tho 
money. Claflin had none of Stewart’s ava¬ 
rice, and none of Stewart’s tyranny. He 
took young men into his employ, not to see 
what he could get out of them, but to see 
I what he could make of them. Youner mer- 

| o 

chants who had a fair repute were always 
sure of credit and a helping hand from 
Claflin. 

He early learned the art of securing; influ- 
ence in the great centres. Representative 
men from a distance, if they had talent, 
were sure of employment from Claflin. If 
they failed at home, and faded without dis¬ 
honor, they were just ds useful to the great 
merchant. These men bad influence and 
custom, and they could transfer it to New 
Fork. Claflin scoured the country to secui’e 
men of talent and ability. If men came to 
trade from Buffalo, Detroit, Chicago, or St, 
Louis, they would be introduced to a head 
of a department from their own section. 
The customers would at once feel at home, 
and would find topics of conversation inter¬ 
esting to both parties. 

Claflin catered to the public. And as he 
did in Worcester, so he did in New York. 
He made himself popular with the masses. 
He was celebrated for a cheap line of goods. 
This demanded less capital and gave him a 
huge stock. His profits were very small. 
Prints that he bought for nine cents he would 
sell for nine and a half. Men went to Claflin’s 
for cheap patterns, and to Stewart’s for richer 
and more costly fabrics. Claflin sold the 

most goods, but Stewart made the most 
money. 


DEMAS BARNES ROLLS IN SOME COTTON. 

I stood at the Park gate one day, when 
an elegant carriage drove by. My companion 

Saul , “ 1 kncw tbilt gentleman when he had 
no more money than I have; he is now a 
nch man, owns his carriage, and I am bat¬ 
tling to keep the wolf from the door.” Had 


JOURNAL. 


my friend passed his youth as Mr. Barries 
passed his, he might have driven his four-i n 
hand if he would. Demas Barnes was tL e 
son of a farmer who lived back of Albany 
The boy wished to earn his own living un( j 
New York seemed to be the place to do it in 
There was not money enough to pay the 
boy’s fare, so he footed it to Albany. ]{ e 
found a sloop bound for the city, and offered 
to work his passage, but the captain wanted 
no boys on board. Demas did not argue the 
point, but joined the crew and went to work 
He was too useful to be put ashore, so he was 
landed at the foot of Canal Street, a stranger 
hungry and penniless. It was early in the 
morning, and near the landing was a vessel 
loading with cotton. The overseer was in 
a hurry, for he wanted to catch the tide. 
Demas seized a pair of idle trucks and fell 
into line. He spoke to no one, no one spoke 
to him. After an hour a gong sounded. 
“What’s that for?” said Demas. “Break¬ 
fast,” and the lad followed the crow T d below. 
He fell into line when the wages were paid, 
received his, and started for Broadw ay. The 
old Park theatre attracted him, but the low¬ 
est admission was thirty-seven cents, and 
his daily earnings did not reach that sum. 
Chatham Street was more considerate, and 
he entered her play-house for a shilling. 


[From the Home Journal.] 

IN SUNSET LIGHT. 

I looked up, with childhood’s laughing eyes, 
To the brilliant sunset hues, 

Nor thought but the changing tints were 
meant 

My present to amuse. 

In youth I scanned, with earnest gaze, 
What the evening clouds might tell, 

And I saw the wondrous future-land— 

The path I knew full well. 

In manhood’s weary task I paused, 

For the dust I scarce could see; 

Of childhood’s joy, of a youthful dream, 

The sunset spoke to me. 

Through aged eyes I’m peering now. 

No honors round me shine; 

Yet broader sight and calm content 
Enrich my days’ decline. 

The splendor of the evening sky 
Like music fills the air; 

Soft waves of golden melody 
Seems pulsing everywhere. 

I trace the subtle tie that binds 
All beauties into One; 

And, in the sunset light, I know 
My life 1 >as just begun. 


K. E. Clark. 
















97 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 


YORKTOWN. 

The commemoration at Yorktown closes 
the long series of centenaries of Revolu¬ 
tionary battles, which began in 1875, at 
Lexington, Concord, and Bunker Hill, and 
which has continued, with very great, al¬ 
though naturally varying interest, to that 
of the surrender of Cornwallis. The next 
event in order and significance will be the 
centenary of the signing of the treaty of 
peace, and seven years hence we may ex¬ 
pect a duo observance of l ho completion of 
the hundredth year of the government under 
the Constitution. These celebrations have 
been most important and instructive, and 
they have been of the greatest service in 
refreshing the memory of events which in 
some cases had faded from general recollec¬ 
tion or were very vaguely recalled. The 
opening events of the Revolution in New 
England are so familiar that the first cen¬ 
tennial celebrations were general and enthu¬ 
siastic, and served to stimulate the public 
mind with an ardor which did not abate to 
the last commemorations. The active Rev¬ 
olution not only began in New England, but 
the preceding debate had been carried on 
there with the utmost ability and vigor; and 
the historians and biographers of the men 
of that time have been largely New Eng¬ 
landers, so that full and detailed justice has 
been done to the part that the Eastern col¬ 
onies played in the great struggle. The 
three controlling colonies a hundred years 
ago were Massachusetts, New York, and 
Virginia, and the Revolutionary movement 
which began in Massachusetts passed to New 
York, and ended in Virginia. The great 
campaign was that of New York; the deci¬ 
sive event was the surrender of Burgoyne, 
which led to the active aid of France, which 
compelled the surrender of Cornwallis. Thus 
the three colonies are united by the most 
patriotic traditions, and blend in a common 
gratitude the names of illustrious sons. 

The differences observable in the Revolu¬ 
tionary annals between New England and 
New York, which were close and immediate 
neighbors, were due to two chiet causes,— 
the practical homogeneity of New England, 
and the immediate dependence of Eew York 
upon the crown. The immense territory of 
New York was not only sparsely peopled, 
but its population was as heterogeneous as 
it is now. Even in the seventeenth century, 
when New England spoke but one language, 
eighteen different tongues were spoken famil¬ 
iarly in New York ; and politically the rights 
of the people of the province were not guar¬ 
anteed by charter. There were no braver 
or wiser Revolutionary leaders than .John 
Morin Scott, and John Jay, and Alexander 
Hamilton, and George Clinton ; but there 
were no tougher Tories upon the continent 
than those of the city of New York and 
Long Island. During the centennial epoch 


there have been at least ten important com¬ 
memorations in New York. The first was 
that of the beginning of hostilities, signal¬ 
ized by a masterly discourse of Dr. Storrs 
before the Historical Society. The next 
was the anniversary of the adoption of the 
Constitution of the State, in the spring of 
1877, marked by a characteristic oration of 
Charles O’Conor before the same society. 
These were followed by the celebration at 
Kingston of the institution of the State gov¬ 
ernment; the Oriskany celebration upon 
the battle-field; the celebration at Bemus 
Heights and Schuylerville, the Saratoga of 
Burgoyne’s surrender; and the celebrations 
at Cherry Valley, at the old fort of Schoharie, 
at White Plains, and at the spot of the cap¬ 
ture of Andre. Other Revolutionary events 
within the State have not been forgotten, but 
we have mentioned the more important. 

During all this period the comparative 
good-natured indifference of New York to 
her own renown has been observable,—that 
trait which has led to great injustice in the 
popular estimate of the Revolutionary atti¬ 
tude of the State. There were several liv¬ 
ing ex-Govcrnors of the State at the time of 
the Kingston celebration, but we believe 
that not one Avas present to honor in person 
the memory of the first great republican 
Governor of New York, George Clinton, 
although ex-Governor Seymour, detained at 
home by illness, wrote an admirable letter 
upon the occasion. Schuylerville, the seat of 
Burgoyne’s surrender, and, upon the whole, 
the most memorable, because, as we have 
said, the most decisive, field of the war, is 
only twenty miles from Albany; the day of 
the commemoration was perfect; but the 
Legislature had made no appropriation, we 
believe, towards the expenses of the day, and 
the Governor of New York was “repre¬ 
sented by members of his military family.” 
The affair at Oriskany was of the most vital 
importance, and there was an immense 
crowd upon the field of the celebration ; yet, 
while every school-boy in Massachusetts 
knows the great day of Concord and Lex¬ 
ington by heart, there are very intelligent 
citizens of New York who know little about 
Oriskany. It is curious to trace in this way 
the persistence of the characteristics of a 
community. The misfortune of Virginia is 
the situation of her famous battle-field. It 
is on a solitary and inaccessible peninsula, 
and the difficulties of providing transport 
and comfortable accommodation for a vast 
throng of visitors seem not to have been 
properly considered. It is unlucky that the 
only commemoration to which foreign guests 
were bidden should have been the one for 
which preparations were the least adequate. 
But the great purpose of such an occasion— 
renewing the knowledge of the details ol the 
event and the perception of its significance 
_has been fully accomplished. The daily 


13 


JOURNAL. 

newspapers have become histories; admira¬ 
ble memoirs, like Johnston’s “ The Yorktown 
Campaign,” have been published; and while 
the hearty good-will of other years with 
France and Germany has been renewed, the 
hostile feeling of the same years towards 
England has been buried in a grave over 
which “ our old home” mourns with us. The 
moral of the long scries of centennial Revo- 
lutionary celebrations is plain, and will be 
denied by no man of English blood; it is 
that the English colonies in America tri¬ 
umphantly vindicated the essential principles 
of English liberty. 


LORILLARD INSURANCE COMPANY. 

This Insurance Company has been organ¬ 
ized twenty-eight years, having at its head 
as President, Vice-President, and Secretary, 
some of our most prominent and trustworthy 
business men. Few, if any, in the United 
States can boast of a finer class of directors. 
Among them we take pride in our personal 
knowledge of Mr. George W. Quintard and 
Marville AV. Cooper as gentlemen whose 
honorable report as business men is only 
second to their well-known unimpeachable 
personal character and spirit of benevolence. 
The knowledge that our leading business 
men rank among our best citizens is a grati¬ 
fying one, and should lead all to their patron¬ 
age. 


OUR CHILDREN. 


BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 

Standing forth on life’s rough way, 
Father, guide them; 

Oh! we know not what ere long 
May betide them. 

’Neath the shadow of Thy wing, 
Father, hide them; 

AValking, sleeping, Lord, we pray, 
Go beside them. 

When in prayer they cry to Thee, 
Thou wilt hear them ; 

From the stains of sin and shame. 
Thou wilt clear them. 

’Mid the quicksands and the rocks, 
Thou wilt steer them ; 

In temptation, trial, and grief. 

Be thou near them. 

Unto Thee we give them up. 

Lord, receive them; 

In the world we know must be 
Much to grieve them ; 

Many striving oft and strong 
To deceive them; 

Trustful, in Thy hands of love, 

AVe must leave them. 















98 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL 


MY MUMMY. 

IlY HELEN W. 1’lEllSON. 

Some people invest in houses and lands, 
others in the Big Bonanza, others in dia¬ 
monds. 1 invested in a mummy! 

Do you ask of what earthly use a mummy 
could he to a young man just admitted to 
the bar? Does anyone with a sneer inquire 
if the law was not dry enough, and full 
enough of dead men’s bones? Does some 
one suggest that I am a wild lunatic with a 
hobby? Let me explain. My friend, Pro¬ 
fessor Carl Smeisenhammer, a learned Ger¬ 
man, was making a collection of antiquities, 
which he expected to bequeath to posterity, 
and make his name immortal. Unlike most 
learned professors, he was very wealthy, and 
able to indulge every whim. So when he 
heard from me an enthusiastic sketch of my 
intended travels, he seized me rapturously 
by the hand, and cried in his broken English, 

“ Feeleep, you make me exquisite happy. 
Mow I sail realize de dream of my life. 
You vill bring me a mummy. I sail go one 
day myself; but I fear dat all de best mum¬ 
my vill be bought up, and you, oh, my 
friend! you sail hafe de honor of contribute 
to my grand idea.” 

I had no idea there was such a lively 
market for mummies as m} T friend seemed to 
imagine, but I promised him rashly to try 
and procure a first-class article, and he 
clasped me in his arms, kissed me on both 
cheeks, after the impulsive manner of his 
countrymen, and told me to spare no money 
to obtain a mummy wbo had moved in the 
first circles, and had blue blood in his veins, 
because they were the kind who were buried 
with antique chains and jewels of worth 
about them, and the sacrilegious Arabs were 
doing a brisk business in them. 

I received the kisses, which resembled a 
smart brush with a stiff scrubbing-brush, as 
kindly as I could, and taking leave, went to 
receive another of a very different style— 
something like the fluttering down of a pair 
of rose-leaves. Poor, little, tender-hearted 
Rosie! She was so timid with her shy, 
fawn-like eyes, and her quivering mouth. 
I often wondered how we became engaged, 
for the child swooned when I told her 1 
loved her, and again when I told her 1 must 
leave her. She had been brought up by a 
sentimental maiden aunt, and had breathed 
a hot-house atmosphere till there was nothing 
robust about her mentally and physically, 
but I loved her. 

And in the course of time I found myself 
sitting with my friend Teddy Sawyer on the 
deck of a boat, listening to the rippling of 
old Father Nile. IIow we stuck on a sand¬ 
bar, and the pelicans and cranes winked at 
us in a malicious way. How we learned to 
smoke a chibouk. How we rode together 
on donkeys among wonderful ruins of ancient 


temples, and roamed among the painted 
tombs, and read the histories of the buried 
in the pictures of their doings. Kings and 
coins, and wonderful chains of rarest woik- 
manship were offered us, but I was looking 
about for my opportunity. 1 could not 
waste my substance on trifles, and confined 
myself to an exquisite trinket for Rosie, and 
saved myself for the mummy. 

How Teddy Sawyer came to be my friend 
has always been a mystery to me. He is 
the most matter-of-fact fellow I ever saw, 
looks about him stolidly, never admires any¬ 
thing, and is enough to drive any guide mad. 
He is as nonchalant and well dressed on the 
plains of Luxor as in the streets of Broad¬ 
way, has no associations of history with the 
great scenes he witnesses, no romances, no 
dreams. lie smokes his chibouk, and looks 
about him and listens to my vagaries with a 
half-pitying air; but he is a capital fellow 
at making a bargain, and I make over to him 
all such disagreeable work, and find he man¬ 
ages the rascally Arabs to a wonder. They 
are surprised to find so much pluck in a slim 
dandy, who wears such faultless linen, has a 
blond beard, and girlish complexion, inno¬ 
cent, very wide-open blue eyes, and a smile 
“so child-like and bland.” 

The sun rose on us as on myriads of oth¬ 
ers who have waited to hear Memnon salute 
the morning, but he was dumb. He sat 
there silent, with his nameless companion, on 
his rocky seat. 

“ Old chap’s lost his voice in the ages,” 
said Teddy Sawyer, taking the chibouk out 
of his mouth ; “ or he’s tired of singing, hav¬ 
ing seen the sun get up so often.” 

“I think he never has sung, except in 
song,” I said, looking at the dumb stone face 
of the rocky giant. “ Teddy, don’t it make 
you feel small to look at him, and don’t you 
feel bran new in this old, old place, where 
the very stars have a tired look ?” 

“ Can’t say as I do,” Teddy returned, “ but 
I say it is enough to knock old Memnon off 
his porch if he could see how those fellows 
are picking into the graves of his princes, 
behind there. He stares out on the great 
plain, and says to himself, ‘all right,’ and 
thinks he’s guarding the treasures in first- 
class style, while these blackguards are 
kicking up the deuce of a bobbery behind 
him. Reminds me of some of our govern¬ 
ment officials, does old Memnon.” 

One could not help laughing at Teddy. 
Although he was a regular wet blanket on 
romance and ali that sort of thing, he was 
not wanting in a shrewd wit of "his own. 
and I confided to him my project of getting 
a mummy, with the wish that he should 

make the bargain when I found a suitable 
j subject. 


" Sure old Sweisenhammor won’t go 
on you, and leave the critter on 
hands?” he inquired. 


back 

your 


“ Oh, no, it’s the dream of his life,” J said 

“All right, I flatter myself I can jew an 
Arab down with the best of ’em; they’d sell 
their fathers’ bones for a little money, and 
I’ve no compassion for them. As for Ach- 
met, lie’s the slyest, oiliest specimen of a 
guide I ever met, and he’d gammon you, my 
unsophisticated friend, completely. Thank 
your stars I am here, a genuine live Yankee. 

I who can’t be bamboozled.” 

So it was arranged that we should look 
together for a prime article, and we made 
known our purpose to our attendant Ach- 
met, a slim olive-hued fellow, with the soft¬ 
est black velvet eyes, the lithest movements, 
and the most wheedling mellifluous voice I 
ever heard. He spoke some English, having 
acted as guide since he had been a boy, and 
being quick-witted and sharp be} T ond expres¬ 
sion. He belonged to a band of Arabs who 
work at night for fear of the government, 
and he was absent the whole night after my 
i communication. 

The next morning, as Teddy and I strolled 
up the broad street of temples, palaces, and 
statues, where so many ages ago the royal 
dead were carried in kingly pomp to their 
homes, we met t he fellow silentl}’ as a shadow 
stealing after us. But his face was radiant, 
and his splendid teeth flashed as he gazed at 
us, and beckoned mysteriously. 

“Grand mummy—one of royal family of 
Thothmes III.—the very thing—court lady,” 
he exclaimed. 

“ Oh, are you going in for a lady?” asked 
: Teddy. 

“Certainly; more valuable on account of 
! jewelry,” I said, in a low voice. 

“ But I must look into it,” Teddy an¬ 
swered, in a business-like way. “You must 
not buy a pig in a poke; and this fellow is 
quite capable of robbing a ‘ cold corpus’ of 
its finery, and giving you the bare ‘ skellin- 
tone.’ ” 

But we followed our friend Achmet to the 
hill-side cheerily, for I was glad to get the 
mummy off my mind, and finish up the busi¬ 
ness as soon as possible. We walked through 
a long trench, then up a hill, then down 
again, then round an excavation, till at last 
we reached a cavernous opening in the hill¬ 
side. We entered this, and walked a couple 
of hundred feet or so. Then came a break, 
and wc were obliged to jump down, and 
crawl, with our candles in our hands, through 
a difficult passage. At last we reached a 
pile of fallen stone, which we climbed, and 
found ourselves in a large cavern, where 
three ancient Egyptians were lying in state. 
The bats fluttered all about us as we dis¬ 
turbed their peace. There was something 
quaint and strange in such a burial, and 
| their coffins seemed staring at us with a fixed 
smile; for it is the custom of the Egypti anS 
to paint and carve unmeaning faces over the 
countenance of their dead. 










PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


99 


“Here,” called Aehmet, pointing to a 
mummy ease which had escaped our gaze, 

“ here you have elegant mummy—court 
lady—time of Thothmes III.!” 

The case was decorated in such a way as 
to indicate great wealth and station on the 
part of the deceased lady. Looking up, we 
saw a ray of sunlight breaking through the 
cavern at one corner, and a pile of stones 
showed where Aehmet and his companions 
had torn down the wall with their rude picks 
and avaricious hands, and let in the light of 
day on the silence and darkness of three 
thousand years. 

“Why in thunder did you not bring us 
that way?” cried Teddy, angrily, pointing 
to the opening. 

“Oh, too much hard!” Aehmet answered, 
humbly; but we knew the rascal was lying, 
and had tried to magnify the value of his 
wares by leading us a vary circuitous route. 

“Three thousand years,” 1 said, looking 
at the sculptured ease; “ think of it, Teddy, 
my boy ! The ages that have buried thrones 
and crumbled empires have swept silently 
over these tombs since they brought my 
beautiful young princess here—for she will 
be mine, and 1 might as well imagine she 
was beautiful. What tearful eyes bent over 
her as she was wrapped in precious spices 
and perfumes, and how the rocky tomb 
closed upon her and the light of life for all 
who loved her.” 

“ I wonder how wine would taste buried 
for the same length of time,” said Teddy. 
“ If a few hundred years make it better, what 
would three thousand do ?—there’s a sum for 
you.” 

“ It would be nectar, if it had not evapor¬ 
ated,” I answered ; “ but do, there’s a good 
fellow, look into this case, and see what I 
should give.” It only needed a glance to 
see the precious necklace of gold and gems, 
the rings and bracelets, that attested the 
high rank of my prize. But one jewel 
caught my eye — a wonderful amulet of 
lapis-lazuli, representing the flight of the 
soul to the land of Osiris. 

“The fellow has actually told the truth 
about it,” said Teddy, in surprise; “ but 
don’t pay till it’s delivered, with all its tog¬ 
gery on.” 

So the bargain was made, and Aehmet 
promised to have my treasure securely 
packed, and on board by starlight. He 
dared not move before. He did his part 
very well, being conscious, I suppose, of 
Teddy’s sharp eye upon him; and 1 had 
written a letter, telling of my prize, to Prof. 
Carl, when I heard through Rosie that he 
had been called home to Germany by the 
death of his mother. 1 will not dwell on 
our trip any farther, as my object is not to 
describe ancient cities, but to give a warn¬ 
ing to ruthless travellers who disturb the 
remains of the dead. 


I reached Spuytenville, my native town, 
one sweet June evening. My baggage had 
been sent there a week before, as I had 
some business to transact on the way. I 
had not mentioned the purchase of the 
mummy in any of my letters, because I felt 
that it would soon belong to Prof. Carl, 
and he should, therefore, have the sole priv¬ 
ilege of exhibiting it. I knew I could never 
withstand curiosity and entreaty, so silence, 
utter silence, was the best policy. 

My mother greeted me with a fond kiss ; 
my only brother, Fred, a boy of eight, so 
irrepressible that he was nicknamed “ Bus¬ 
ter,” danced a war-dance about me, talking 
very fast. “All your traps are in your room. 
Phil. My eye ! what a big box of presents 
you’ve got, ain’t you—lots for me, eh ? Show 
me what’s in that big box.” 

“A genius,” I answered, knowing he was 
stuffed with fairy talcs, “ who knocks little 
boys on the head and lays ’em out stiff!, j 
if they’re curious and disobedient,” and I 
went off up-stairs to look after my belong¬ 
ings. 

All was right, and stowed away as neatly 
as possible ; but the rough pine box contain- J 
ing the mummy had been left out, as it was j 
evidently supposed to contain something for 
immediate use. It was a lovely night, and 
the starlight shone into my room, reminding 
me, somehow, of old Thebes and the stars j 
which had kept such endless vigil over the 
rocky tombs of Luxor. I sat up very late, 
arranging my effects, and at last sat down, | 
too tired to make the effort at undressing, 
when a soft rustle drew my eyes away from 
the stars, and 1 stared about my room. I 
had no other light than the silvery moon¬ 
light, but I could see every part of it as clearly 
as in the daytime. 

A dark, hideous phantom, in a swathing 
cloth, seemed to form itself out of the shadow. 
It hovered over the packing-box—in fact, 
seemed crouching upon it—for the closely- 
wound cerements of the grave prevented 
much movement. I had a half feeling that 
I was asleep and dreaming, still I felt a cold 
horror creeping through my blood and ting¬ 
ling in every vein, as I looked at the skeleton 
face, with the dark, shrivelled flesh clinging 
to the bones. 

“ Wretch !” came in a low, metallic sort of 
tone, “you have violated the grave; you 
have torn me away from my husband’s side; 
you have disturbed the sleep that was to 
have lasted till the reunion of body and soul 
at the call of Osiris.” 

“ Who are you,” I cried, with a half glim¬ 
mering of the truth. 

“ 1 am a court lady,” she answered. “ 1 
was young and beautiful. A prince was my 
husband, and you, imbecile, have dared to 
buy me— me!” 

She spoke excellent English, this lady of 
the court of Thothmes III., but 1 supposed 


she had had plenty of time to learn it in the 
three thousand years. 

I shuddered. It was very hard to have 
my purchase go back on me in this way. 

“ Restore me,” she cried ; “ take me back 
to the tomb of my ancestors. Where shall 
I be when the souls awake?—far from my 
beloved, my own, and among a nation of 
dogs.” 

“ Oh. but you are mistaken, your High¬ 
ness,” I said, somewhat puzzled at the 
manner in which I ought to address this 
“daughter of a hundred kings.” “ You are 
introduced to a race of enlightened and 
free people. There has been much progress 
in every way since those dark ages in which 
—ahem ! excuse me, I mean to say—that you 
can perform ^ worthy mission here in en¬ 
lightening our people in the customs and 
manners of the Old World.” 

“ Mission !” she cried, indignantly. - What 
have I to do with missions? I am a woman, 
and you have torn me from my beloved. Do 
you think I will rest in peace here in this 
strange land ? Restore me to the graves of 
my ancestors, or I will haunt you—I will 
haunt you!” 

My heart throbbed at this, and I felt the 
creature was in earnest, and would do her 
utmost; but could she do it? I was scepti¬ 
cal on that point. 

“That is very hard,” I said. “I have 
taken so much trouble in the cause of 
science. I have spent all J have. You will 
be treated with every respect, I assure you. 
Admiring multitudes will gaze on you. It 
will be a new sort of court, and remind you 
of the old days of Thothmes III.” 

But 1 was surprised at her shrill anger: 
“ Crowds gaze on me,—on me, the prince's 
bride! Oh, my beloved ! where are you, to 
save mo from this desecration ? But it shall 
never be; I swear it by the ancient gods! 
Be warned, you have separated me from my 
own, and I shall work estrangement for you 
with those you love. Remember!” 1 
rubbed my eyes and looked about me. The 
first sunbeam seemed pointing like a finger 
of light to the rough pine box. Where was 
I? Where was she? All was serene. I 
had slept some hours. AVas it all a dream ? 
I did not feel exactly like myself, either,— 
not buoyant, as usual. My head ached a 
little, and I concluded that the pain had 
<dven me strange visions. 

I had not seen Rosie yet, and I came 
upon her suddenly in her pretty little bou¬ 
doir. all in pale pink and white, with crimped 
lace and cunning little bows fluttering here 
and there. She tossed away the fluffy yel¬ 
low curls that hung into her eyes as sho 
saw me, and looked so scared that I thought 
of the mummy involuntarily, and glanced 
around,—but then, my pet was so easily 
frightened. “Oh! you bad boy.” she cried; 
“ I hate surprises. Have you had enough of 




100 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL 


those old tombs you used to write about ? 
It’s time for you to come homo, sir.” 

I am afraid 1 crumpled the lace very 
much just then, for she drew herself away 
and shook out her flounces. 

Rut she came nearer again when 1 opened 
a box and showed her the wonderful neck¬ 
lace. I had hung on it the exquisite amulet 
which had been on the mummy for a pen¬ 
dant, and a more recherche ornament could 
not be imagined. 

‘•Oh, lovely!” she cried. “You dear fel¬ 
low ! Why, can you get such things in 
Egypt? 1 never! It is the most exquisite 
thing. I thought Egypt was an old ruin¬ 
ous place, with great sphinxes and tombs , 
like the prison in New York. Oh, how j 
jealous the girls will be! Why, really, 
Philip, it is so beautiful; it was worth the 
journey. I shall let you go again.” 

“Oh!” I said, laughingly, “you remind 
me of the Lady Jane in the Ingoldsby Le- j 
gends, who was so afflicted at the death of 
her husband by drowning, till she found his 
pockets, hat, and shoes stutfed with cels, 
when she said, in a melancholy tone, ‘ Pray, I 
plump Sir Thomas again in the pond. Poor 
dear! perhaps he’ll catch us some more.’ ” 

“ You horrid boy,” cried little Posie, clasp¬ 
ing the necklace about her round white 
neck, “there!” But the tone which had 
begun in triumph seemed to end in a sort of 
shudder and a half shriek. 

“It is ravishing,” I said. 

But the child’s eyes were not fixed on me. 
They were strangely dilated, and looked past 
me, while an ashy paleness seemed to chase 
the bloom from her cheek. Slowly, as one 
under some magnetic influence, she raised 
her hand and pointed with her finger. The 
summer twilight had stolen about us, and 
some darker shadows were hovering- in the 
corners. 

“There, there!” she faltered, “the stran¬ 
gest shadow—just behind you—like—oh ! 
what is it like? It threatens me—it will 
strike me !” and she fell back fainting in my 
arms. 

Holding her there, I turned to question 
the shadows, but saw nothing. I rang for 
help and lights. But when my little Rosie 1 
came to herself, she said, “ Oh, don’t talk of 
it, and go away, please. Do not be angry; 
but I feel so weak, and I would rather not 
think about it, please. I suppose it was 
fancy,—yes, that is what you will say and 
all sensible people,—but go away now, 
please.” 

So I was forced to go, feeling very anxious 
and hurt, too. I knew my Rosie was not 
very wise; but, such as she was, I loved her. 
and longed for her to turn to me as sole 
consoler in all her ills, real or fanciful. My 
head throbbed, and it seemed as if a clo«- of 
lead bound my feet as 1 wont home that 
night. Strange to say. I had forgotten about 


the mummy and my odd dream, as 1 called 
it, till I went up to my room. 1 had ieared 
that little Rosie was threatened with fever, 
and her fancy a symptom of delirium, till 
my eye rested on the pine box. Could it be 
that the court lady was keeping her threat? 

1 had rifled her of the amulet, which, per¬ 
haps, was gifted with magic power to enable 
the wearer to look into the spirit world,—to 
lift the veil of the material, and see the forms 
unknown to mortal ken. Rosie, with hei 
delicate organization and etherialized being, 
was just the one to catch glimpses ot subtle 
things that would escape coarser souls. 
What had she seen? I must question her 
closely, if possible. I passed a restless night, 
and hurried to Rosie the next morning in 
quite a feverish state of anxiety. She had 
come down, and looked very pale and wan,— 
like a very white rose, indeed. But she met 
me with a smile. 

“Did I frighten you last night? Poor 
boy,” she said. “ I think it was seeing you 
so suddenly that upset my nerves. I am 
such a silly little thing. You always knew 
I was silly, didn’t you ?” 

“ No, never. I always knew you were 
charming,” I answered, quite delighted at 
her spirits. “ But tell me about it, won’t 
you,—what was the fancy like, exactly?” 

“ Oh, y’ou exact boy !” she cried, laughing; 
“you want to know how many inches high 
it was, and the circumference, don’t you? 
Well, I am not exact, you know. I suppose 
it was—the shadow of a curtain—or some¬ 
thing.” 

“Like what?” I suggested. 

“ Like, well,—some creature who raised its | 
hands as if to threaten,—will that do?” 

“Dark,—like a shadow?” 

“Y T es; but still very stiff and wound up; 
but that might have been the curtain.” 

“ I dare say" it was,” I said, relieved that 
she had so settled the matter; and then we j 
j talked of other things much pleasanter than 
the shadow. And days came and went, and 
I heard no more of it. 

My mother thought it incumbent on her¬ 
self to give a grand party, in honor of my 
coming home, soon after, and Rosie came 
rejoicing mainly over the party, that she 
might strike envy to the souls of her com¬ 
panions with her Egyptian necklace, I am 
very much afraid. She had dressed her 
fluffy golden hair in Egyptian style, and 
wore a string of ancient golden coins upon 
it. She wore some soft, semi-transparent, 
pale amber-tinted dress, and floated about 
like a sunlit cloud. As I was host, I could 
not quite sit at her feet and worship the 
whole evening, neither could 1 steal away 
into odd corners and talk with her alone, as 
had boon my wont at other fetes. But it 
happened, in the course of the evening, that 
I quite lost sight of her, and 1 was wonder¬ 
ing about it, when Buster came towards me 


with a frightened look in his usually jolly 
fat face. “ Oh, Phil,” he cried, “ Rosie has— 
oh, I guess she’s dead, or dyin’, or some¬ 
thin’!” 

“ Where, where?” 1 cried. 

“ In your room,” he answered. “ I’ll tell 
you all about it—you can’t punch my head 
’fore company".” 

I did not wait for any such summary pun¬ 
ishment, but flew up the stairs in a dis¬ 
traught way, Buster panting after, to see 
the denouement. There Rosie lay, prone and 
lifeless to all appearance, near the pine box, 
which had the cover off, and the ugly face 
of my court lady plainly visible. My mother 
was just in advance of me, and we raised 
Rosie at once. “ We must take her away 
from here,” I said, with a glance at the 
mummy, who really seemed to regard me 
with a malicious air. Between us we car¬ 
ried my darling, who lay like a broken flower, 
into my mother’s room. With restoratives, 
she soon came to life, and looked about her 
in a bewildered way. Suddenly a bright 
flush came to her checks. 

“ Oh. Philip,” she cried, “ I am so ashamed. 
I did not want to pry into your secrets, but 
Buster-” 

“ Do not speak of it, darling,” I said, hur¬ 
riedly". 

“But I must,” she went on, in an excited 
way. “ I know I am not wise, but—you 
may laugh—that creature in y-our box—that 
horrible creature—is like my vision the other 
day". It certainly threatened me, and I am 
afraid, afraid! I think, Philip, y T ou had bet¬ 
ter not think of such a silly little thing as I 
am for a wife. I want to go away some¬ 
where. I believe I shall see that awful 
creature every where. I am haunted.” 

“ It is only" an Egyptian mummy, dear, 
that I bought for Professor Carl,” I ex¬ 
plained. 

“But why" does she haunt me?” my pet 
exclaimed, in the tone of a grieved child. 
“I have never done her any" harm. And 
why havey r ou kept it such a my T stery, Philip? 
Oh! I see you do not confide in me; you 
think me too foolish to trust,—and husband 
and wife should have confidence in each 
other. We had much better part, since y T ou 
do not trust me any" more.” 

I saw that the mummy was accomplishing 
her threat in working evil between us; but 
I would not take Rosie at her word, though 
she seemed quite in earnest, and laid off the 
necklace as a beginning of returning my 
gifts. I felt a i-eal stab as my darling did 
this, and y r et there was a sort of “diablerie” 
about the thing, and I thought Rosie looked 
happier when she had got rid of it. 

“I will go homo now, please. I am not 
strong enough to stay",” she pleaded, and we 
were forced to let her sro. 

ft 

The rest of the evening was, of course, 
stale, flat, and unprofitable to me, but I cm- 



























































































101 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


ployed my first leisure in hunting Buster in 
every available place, and at last drew him 
out of an empty flour barrel, with his black- 
velvet party suit in a sad state, and curly 
mop well powdered, as if it had “ turned 
white in a single night” with fright. 

“Don’t shake the breath out ov a feller,” 
he said, indignantly, as I bade him tell me 
all about it. “Ilow’d I know you had a 
dried nigger in that box ? I expected it was 
Gypsum curiosities, and I’d been a unscrew¬ 
ing it for a long time, and Rosie was a goin’ 
past the door, and I just called her in to see 
the fun. Oh, crickee! When I took that 
cover off. wasn’t I scared to see that dried 
nigger wrapped up so careful, and Rosie just 
gave a screech, and keeled over. Say! did 
you kill that thing, and how was it dried ?” 

I did not vouchsafe to answer the young 
gentleman’s questions, but as soon as the last 
guest was gone, I went up to my room in 
a state of stern resolve. I would get rid of 
the accursed thing. Should I have the hap¬ 
piness of my life blighted in the cause of 
science? I looked at the open box with fear 
and dread. If the mummy were returned 
even to the veritable cavern from which the 
Arab chief had stolen it, would the spirit be 
laid ? Would harmony once more crown my 
life? Would peace fill my heart, and things 
be once more adjusted ? I stared at the stiff 
and solemn face, and read in its immovable 
features the malevolence of a fiend. “ I will 
send it back,” I cried ; “ better any sacrifice, 
than to be tormented by a fiend.” And I 
imagined a low ripple of sardonic laughter 
echoed through the room. 

I had never sent my letter to Prof. Carl, 
as he had been wandering on the Continent 
after his mother’s death, and I congratulated 
myself that I had roused no hopes. I sat 
down by the side of the box, and took off 
carefully all the rare jewelry from the court 
lady. I could not send that back! 

“She will certainly not haunt me for her 
jewels,” I thought, “ when she once reposes 
in the tomb of her ancestors. That villain 
of an Achmet would sell her over again if I 
left anything valuable on her, and she may 
thank me for securing undisturbed repose 
for her.” 

Then I nailed on the top of the box care¬ 
fully, and addressed it to a friend I had 
abroad, writing a letter with full directions 
in regard to it. My mummy made no sign 
of thanks for all this trouble and useless ex¬ 
pense, and in that resembled some other ot 
her sex, who are always most eloquent about 
their wrongs, and maintain a dead silence 
when they are pleased. For I suppose she 
was pleased, as I never heard from her again, 
but received an assurance from my friend 
that my minutest wish should be piously 
obeyed. 

I felt buoyant as a feather when that pine 
box was borne out and away, and hurried 


over to Rosie to explain the whole thing on 
psychological grounds, which, as Rosie under¬ 
stood nothing about, she assented to every¬ 
thing, and gave me a damp little kiss, and 
wiped her ejms, and, as the stories say, we 
were happy ever afterwards. 

Rut I sold all the antique jewelry for dou¬ 
ble the cost of the whole affair, so I rather 
think I did the court lady of the time of 
Thothmes IIP, after all. 


SHADOWS. 

Not a hearthstone shall you find on which 
some shadow has not fallen, or is about to 
fall. You will probably find that there are 
few households which do not cherish some 
sorrow not known to the world; who have 
not some trial which is their peculiar mes¬ 
senger, and which they do not talk about 
except among themselves; some hope that 
has been blasted; some expectation dashed 
down ; some wrong, real or supposed, which 
some member of the household has suffered ; 
trembling anxieties lest other members will 
not succeed ; trials from the peculiar tem¬ 
perament of somebody in the house, or some 
environment that touches it sharply from 
without; some thorn in the flesh; some 
physical disability that cripples our energies 
when we want to use them the most; some 
spot in the house where death has left his 
track, or painful listenings to hear his 
stealthy footsteps coming on. 


The Chamber of Commerce dinner in 
honor of the Nation’s guests from France and 
Germany was in every respect conspicuously 
successful. As the Rev. Dr. Storrs and the 
Hon. William M. Evarts were among the 
speakers of the evening, the indebtedness of 
the country to the ancestors of the visitors 
was eloquently as well as heartily rec¬ 
ognized. Appropriate responses were made 
by the leading representatives of the two 
delegations and also by M. Outrcy, anti the 
banquet was crowned with hospitality j 
worthy of the palmiest days of Knicker¬ 
bocker traditions. 


One person always appears well dressed , 
another never; yet the one who is ill dressed 
may pay his tailor twice as much in a year 
as the other. So it is with the dress of wo- J 
men. One who does not understand the 
adaptation of style and colors may be loaded j 
with costly garments and finery, and yet 
never appear well dressed. To some persons 
taste in everything seems natural; but in all 
it admits of cultivation. And the cultiva 
tion of one’s taste not only saves money, 
but it is a source of much satisfaction and 
happiness. 


WHERE TO BUY BLACK SILKS AND SATINS. 

Black satin, that, a few years since, was 
regarded as exclusively appropriate for our 
grandmothers, now glints and shimmers 
with its borderings of glancing jet trim¬ 
mings, in all its brocaded lustre, on their 
blooming granddaughters. And it is univer¬ 
sally becoming. On the dark southern 
beauty it increases the Spanish effect of her 
style, while the golden-haired blonde appears 
all the more sunny and brilliant clad in the 
glistening raiment of night. 

Brocaded satin as a bordering for black 
silk is also largely and appropriately adopted. 
The use of black silk and satin is in fact 
one of the most elegant prevailing tastes. 
The question is only where can the best 
quality be procured at the most reasonable 
rates. James McCrary & Co.. Broad way 
and 11th Street, offer every variety of bro¬ 
caded black satin and silk at low prices. 

The stock offered by these merchants is 
of the best and cheapest that the country 
affords. 


FINDING FAULT. 

In speaking of a person’s faults, 

Pray, don’t forget your own ; 

Remember, those with homes of glass 
Should never throw a stone. 

If we have nothing else to do 
Than talk of those who sin, 

’Tis better we commence at home, 

And from that point begin. 

We have no right to judge a man 
Until he’s fairly tried ; 

Should we not like his company, 

We know the world is wide. 

Some may have faults, and who has not ? 
The old as well as young. 

Perhaps you may, for all you know, 

Have fifty to their one. 

I’ll tell you a better plan, 

And find it works full well, 

To find your own defects to cure, 

Ere others’ faults you tell. 

And though I sometimes hope to be 
No worse than some I know, 

My own shortcomings bid me let 
The faults of others go. 

Now let us all. when we begin 
To slander friend or foe. 

Think of the harm one word may do 
To those we little know. 

Remember, curses, chicken-like, 
Sometimes to roost come home ; 

Don’t speak of others’ faults until 
You have none of your own. 








102 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. 


GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


SUGAR FROM RAGS. 

The newspapers have lately taken up the 
subject of making sugar from rags, and some 
of them seem to regard it as a new inven¬ 
tion. This, however, is by no means the 
case. It has been long known to chemists 
that if vegetable fibre, such as that of cotton, 
flax, etc., be submitted to the action of sul¬ 
phuric acid, it is converted into soluble starch 
or dextrine, and this is readily convertible 
into sugar. The ordinary process of malting 
is simply a conversion of the starch of the 
barley into sugar by the agency of a ferment 
called “diastase,” which is formed in the 
barley, and is so effective that only one five- 
hundredth part is sufficient to set up the 
action by which the insoluble starch is con¬ 
verted into dextrine, and then into sugar. 
This occurs when the grain of barley is sown 
in the ground, and is the natural operation 
by which the germ is fed : the germ having 
neither mouth nor stomach, cannot take 
solid food like the original starch granules 
which surround it in the seed; but when 
that starch is converted into sugar, the baby 
plant can absorb it, and continues to absorb 
it until its rootlets and first leaf are formed. 
By this time the sugar is all used up, but 
the plant is now able to obtain its nourish¬ 
ment from the ground by its root, and from 
the carbonic acid of the air by its green leaf 
or leaves. 

Such is the ordinary life-history, not only 
of the barley plant, but of all others. The 
starch is to the plant germ what the yelk 
and white of the egg are to the chick germ. 
If the sugar were ready formed in the seed 
it would be dissolved away at once by the 
water in the soil, and the germ would perish 
prematurely, but by the exquisite chemistry 
of nature the conversion of the insoluble 
starch into the soluble food of the germ goes 
on just so fast as the germ can use it, and 
thus the supply is kept up till the young 
plant can shift for itself. The maltster forces 
the natural process, and then kills the germ 
by roasting the seed when he has obtained 
the maximum amount of sugar. 

Fruits also are sugar factories, in which is 
conducted the whole process of making sugar 
from rags, the fibre of the rags being repre¬ 
sented by the fibre of the unripe fruit. 
Every boy who has struggled to eat an un¬ 
ripe apple or pear knows that the unwhole¬ 
some luxury is what he calls “ woody,” as 
well as sour. The chemist describes it simi¬ 
larly. Ilis technical name for the tough 
material is “ woody fibre,” under which name 
he includes nearly all the fibrous materials 
of the vegetable world, for they all have 
fundamentally a similar chemical composi¬ 
tion. This woody fibre is made up of carbon 
and the elements of water. Starch and sugar 
are composed of the same elements, their 
differences of properties being due to differ¬ 
ences of arrangement and proportions of the 


constituent elements. Thus the change of 
insoluble starch into dextrine, and dextrine 
into sugar, or the change of woody fibre into ' 
dextrine and sugar, are effected by very 
small modifications of chemical composition. 

We all know that the unripe apple or pear 
is sour, or that it contains an acid as well as 
the woody matter. Now, this appears to act 
after the manner of the sulphuric acid that 
the chemist applies to the rags, but it acts i 
more slowly and more effectively. The 
sweetest of pears are gathered when hard 
and quite unfit for eating, but by simply 
setting them aside and giving this acid time 
enough to do its work, the hard, fibrous I 
substance becomes converted into a delicious, 
sweet, juicy pulp. 

The natural chemistry here has -a great 
advantage over the artificial operation, see¬ 
ing that the natural acid either becomes 
itself converted into sugar or combines with 
the basic substances in the fruit, forming | 
wholesome salts. Not so the sulphuric acid 
of the chemist. He must get rid of this 
from his rag sugar; and herein lies the diffi¬ 
culty of the process. The writer tried the 
experiment more than twenty years ago, ! 
using lime for the purpose of removing the 
sulphuric acid, but found that in removing 
the sulphate of lime he lost much of the 
sugar which this solid absorbed, and from 
which it could only be removed by great 
dilution, and then not completely. To do 
this practically would cost so much that the 
rag sugar would be far dearer than that 
which nature beneficently manufactures by 
similarly, but more effectively, acting upon 
the fibres of the sugar-cane or beet-root. 

There is little risk of the sugar trade 
being disturbed, or of the paper-makers 
being deprived of their raw material, by the 
rivalry of rag sugar, though the chemist 
may display in a show glass some crystals 
that he has made from one of his own worn- 
out shirts .—London Grocer. 


The Misery of Short Sight. —“There! 
don’t you see him ? He’s waving his hand¬ 
kerchief now,” said a near-sighted but senti¬ 
mental young lady to her companion, as they 
sat on the hotel balcony. 

“Nonsense, stupid I” replied the other; 
“ it’s the waiter-boy shaking out the table¬ 
cloth after dinner.” 

She fainted on the spot. 

“ Vicissitudes of Families.” — Ragged 
party—“ Ah! I should never a’ been re- 
dooced like this ’ere if it hadn’t been for the 
lawyers.” 

Eaggeder ditto—“ And look at me ! All 
through my title deeds bein’ made into banjos 
an’ such like! Why, I spent a small fortun’ 
advertizin’ for one tambourine as was sup¬ 
posed to a’ been made out o’ my grand¬ 
mother’s marriage settlement!” 


COLUMBIA. 

BY GILMORE. 

Columbia ! First and fairest gem 
On nature’s brow—a diadem, 

Whose lustre, bright as heavenly star, 

The light of freedom sheds afar. 

Like Noah’s ark, a (tod-sent bark, 

In search of land, through day and dark, 
First found thee held by nature’s child, 

The red man in his wigwam, wild. 

Columbia! Soon the tidings spread 
Of what Columbus saw and said: 

The eyes of man, they turned to thee, 

The new land rising from the sea; 

Each spread his sail before the gale, 

To verify the wondrous tale. 

And thus began what was to be 
The hope and home of liberty. 

Columbia! In thine early days, 

Our Pilgrim Fathers sang thy praise. 

They landed from the Mayflower’s deck, 

On Plymouth rock—a snow-clad speck— 
That marks the place from which the race 
Of Puritans their true blood trace, 

Who bought our Independence dear 
With hearts of steel that knew no fear. 

Columbia! ’Twas in fire and blood, 

Brave Washington, the foremost, stood ; 
With banner high and sword in hand, 
lie drove the tyrant from the land. 

Thy breast still sore, to thy heart’s core, 

Till washed again in human gore— 

In martyr blood! Shed not in vain, 

It left thee whole without a stain. 

Columbia! See what thou art now, 

A crown of stars on nature’s brow; 

With fields of gold and teeming marts, 

With fifty million loving hearts, 

Who cling to thee from sea to sea 
To guard thy peace and liberty, 

Who man to man shall e’er be just, 

And in the Lord place all their trust. 

Columbia! Lift thine eyes on high, 

See Him who dwells in yonder sky, 

The King of Glory on His throne, 

Who looks on all, for all’s Ilis own. 

Our earthly gain would be in vain, 

A home in heaven to attain, 

If Avith our hearts we did not pay 
Our debt to Him. Then let us pray. 

At morn, at noon, at eventide, 

Oh, Lord ! be ever at our side, 

That we Thy Amice may ahvays hear, 

And feel that Thou art ever near. 

In mercy spare from grief and care 
The nation, bowed in fervent prayer, 

Who ask with reverent love and awe, 

God Bless and Save America. 









PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


103 


GRAMMAR IN RHYME. 

The annexed effusion has been published 
from time to time during the past twenty 
years, but the name of the author should not 
have been allowed to sink into oblivion ; on 
the contrary, he deserves immortality, and 
the gratitude of generations yet unborn, for 
we have never met with so complete a 
grammar of the English language in so small 
a space. Old as well as young should com¬ 
mit these lines to memory, for by their aid 
it will be difficult, if not impossible, for them 
to fall into errors concerning parts of speech : 

I. 

Three little words you often see 
Are articles, a, an, and the. 

II. 

A noun is the name of any thing, 

As school or garden, hoop or swing. 

III. 

Adjectives show the kind of noun, 

As great, small, pretty, white, or brown. 

IV. 

Instead of nouns the pronouns stand, 

Her head, his face, your arm, my hand. 

V. 

Verbs tell of something to he done. 

To read, count, laugh, sing, jump, or run. 

VI. 

How things are done the adverbs tell, 

As slowly, quickly, ill, or well. 

VII. 

Conjunctions join the words together, 

As men and women, wind and weather. 

VIII. 

The preposition stands before 
A noun, as in, or through, the door. 

IX. 

The interjection shows surprise, 

As oh! how pretty 1 ah ! how wise! 

The whole are called nine parts of speech, 
Which reading, writing, speaking, teach. 


PERILS OF HOUSEKEEPING. 

Have you paid the milk bill? 

The coal is out. 

The stoves want fixing. 

My night-key is broken. 

That front door bell wire is loose, and the 
bell won’t ring. 

Get some fresh meat. That cat hasn’t 
bad anything fresh for nearly two days. 
She won’t eat cooked meat. 

The poker is broken. 

Get some screw hooks for the cupboard. 

We must buy a.new clothes-line. 

The salt is out. 

Mem.: Mark’s last butter was bad. Must 
buy somewhere else. 

The iceman has “ riz,” and lie leaves 
dreadfully small pieces at that. 


Get some wire. 

Ditto oxalic acid. 

Ditto bug powder. 

Ditto a nutmeg grater. 

Ditto some nutmegs. 

Shall we buy a new parlor carpet? The 
old one’s getting faded. 

Want a new tin stewpan. 

The teapot leaks. 

Send for furniture man, and find out how j 
much be asks for recovering the sofa. 

Buy a new market basket. 

The old cat has four kittens. How many ' 
shall we drown ? 

We suspect our hired girl of stealing the 
tea. That last half-pound went very quick. 1 

Schnapps, the grocer, will persist in giving 
us coffee which has lost its flavor. Change 
him. 

Somebody has stolen the ash-box again. 
Fifth in three weeks. 

Get a paper of carpet-tacks. 

Mrs. Doe borrowed our tack hammer a 
month ago, and has never returned it. 

Our canary bird is sick. 

Buy a ball of twine. 

Ditto six small screws. 

Ditto a hatchet. 

The iceman forgot us to-day. 

The cold meat and milk are spoiled. 

The cat persists in carrying her kittens 
all over the house, and won’t stay in the 
nursery soap-box we fixed for her. 

Get some naphtha. 

The water pipe leaks again. Send plumber. 

Out of soap. 

Out of matches. 

She wants some worsted three shades 
darker than the last lot but one, and one 
shade lighter than the last lot. 


[From the Dispatch.] 

WASHDAY POETRY. 

BY WALT. QUEVEDO. 

Season of the drear snowflake, 

Season of the sleet and hail— 

(Mary Ann, for heaven’s sake! 

There’s my copy in the pail.) 

Summer days have passed away; 

Birds, and flowers, and fruit have gone— 
(Wash that collar well, I pray! 

Thunder, how that shirt is torn !) 

Nature’s gladness now has fled, 

All the earth is dark and sad— 

(I will send that brat to bed ! 

I don’t wonder I get mad!) 

Towards the south the robin soars, 

Warmer clime the skylark lures— 

(Those can’t be my brand-new drawers 
Torn apart! No? Ah! they’re yours ?) 

Winter comes ! Aye, there’s the rub ! 

We should our poor neighbor aid—• 
(There’s the first verse in the'tub! 

Say! I’m blamed if this ain’t played.) 


While our riches we are viewing 
We should help him with our mite— 
(Now my nose is full of bluing; 

Pretty soon 1 mean to fight.) 

Blustering spring time, windy March, 
Would that thou wert here to-day— 
(Who upset that bowl of starch 

Down my back? Who did it, say?) 
Would that thou wert with us always, 
Summer, pleasant, dry, or wet— 
(Now the suds are in my “Galways;” 

I will murder some one yet.) 

Winter, get thee quick away, 

Do not hesitate, but go— 

(This is the third time to-day 
That my back has been aglow.) 
We’ve no further use for you. 

Summer suits us very well— 

(How I wish that Monday blue 
Was in—Sh ! I don’t dare tell.) 


CHRISTMAS CARDS. 

Among the many beautiful holiday cards, 
which are of every kind and value, none are 
more striking and interesting than those 
engraved in steel line by Mr. John A. Lowell, 
of Boston. During the recent astonishing 
development of the art of wood-engraving, 
in which Harper's Monthly led the way, and 
has borne so important a part, the sister 
art of steel lines has fallen somewhat out of 
public notice; but it has been quietly pushed 
forward, and in a manner which has been 
much and advantageously affected by the 
singular breadth and freedom of effect pos¬ 
sible to engraving upon wood. This is very 
evident in many of the delicate and airy 
fancies produced by Mr. Lowell’s artists in 
the pretty Christmas cards, which enable 
everybody, in a graceful and pleasant way, 
to wish Merry Christmas and Happy New 
Year to everybody else. 


Not to be Done. —One of the importunate 
juveniles who solicit pennies was asked, 
“Where is your mother?” 

She answered, diffidently, “She is dead.” 

“Have you no father?” 

“Y r es, sir; but lie’s sick.” 

“What ails him?” continued the ques¬ 
tioner. 

“ He has got a sore finger, sir.” 

“ Indeed!” 

“l r es, sir.” 

“Then why don’t he cut it off?” 

“Please, sir,” responded the little maid, 
“ he hain’t got any money to buy a knife.” 

In a certain New York shop-window is dis- 
played this suggestive notice: “ Boy wanted 
that has fully rested himself and is not too 
intellectual.” 








104 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. 


GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL 


THE PRESIDENTS OF THE UNITED STATES 
AND THEIR WIVES. 

GEORGE WASHINGTON. 


party, and many of Ids public measures 
were violently opposed by the Republicans, 
lie was born in Massachusetts, October 30, 
1735. Died July 4, 182G. 


George Washington, first President of 
the United States, was inaugurated 1789. 
lie served two terms, and declined a third, 
thus establishing a precedent which has 
always been followed. lie was born in 
Virginia, February 22, 1732, and died 
at Mount Vernon, December 14, 1799. 

Through his whole life he was the warm 
friend of the soldiers, both officers and pri¬ 
vates, and an earnest advocate for such a 
provision for their support as should, in some 
degree, repay them for their unparalleled 
sufferings. 

MRS. GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

Martha Washington, the wife of our first 
President, was at the time of her second 
marriage a widow (Mrs. Custis), with two 
children. 

History tells us she was possessed of fas¬ 
cinating manners, was of pleasing counte¬ 
nance, had dark-brown eyes and hair, and 
though rather small of stature, was beauti¬ 
fully formed. In her girlhood she enjoyed 
the best society at the “Court” of the Brit¬ 
ish Governor of Virginia, her native State, 
where she was born, May, 1732. She was 
educated as liberally as the custom of the 
time and condition of our country permitted 
to women. Her life after her second mar¬ 
riage was similar to her first in position, both 
husbands being wealthy, prosperous planters 
and living in the old baronial style of the 
colonies. 

Though she endured some privations and 
trials during the war, for over fifteen years 
she enjoyed the constant companionship of 
her husband at their beautiful home, “ Mount 
Vernon.” 

It was her custom to join General Wash¬ 
ington at his headquarters each winter dur¬ 
ing the Revolution, and to accomplish this 
she encountered many hardships, as well as 
dangers. Her only remaining child, Colonel 
Custis, was wounded and died about the 
close of the war, and Washington, who was 
much attached to this son of his adoption, 
keenly felt his loss. When her husband was 
called to the Presidency, she assumed the 
duties of her position as wife of the Chief 
Magistrate with the advantages of wealth 
and high social position. She survived her 
husband a little over two years, sinking 
quietly to rest in her seventy-first year, in 
the spring of 1801. 

JOHN ADAMS. 

John Adams, second President of the 
United States, was inaugurated 1797. He 
early exhibited the most determined opposi¬ 
tion to the policy of Great Britain. Mr. 
Adams was at the head of the Federalist 


MRS. JOHN ADAMS. 

The wife of our second President, Abigail 
Smith, was born in New England, in 1744. 
Her father and grandfather were both min¬ 
isters. Being a very delicate child, she was 
never sent much to school. The younger 
years of her life were passed very quietly 
under her grandmother’s care, so that she 
was in a measure separated from the mem¬ 
bers of her own family, and as very frequent 
intercourse could not be kept up, on account 
of the difficulties and expense of travelling, 
letter-writing was the constant means of 
communication. On the 26th ot October, 
1764, she was married to John Adams, as 
yet a lawyer without much practice. Their 
married life was passed very quietly up to 
the time when Mr. Adams was sent to Con¬ 
gress, in 1775, from which time until she 
crossed the ocean to join her husband in 
London, 1784, she had the responsibility of 
rearing and educating their children, and 
taking care that the homestead was not de¬ 
stroyed. When Mr. Adams was elected 
Vice-President they resided in New York, 
until the seat of government was removed 
to Philadelphia. In 1800 it was again re¬ 
moved to Washington, by which time Mr. 
Adams had succeeded Washington as Pres¬ 
ident. Her health rapidly failing, she lived 
most of her time among her native hills to 
recuperate. She was an uncommon woman, 
—very resolute, with clear perceptions and 
strong mind. Mrs. Adams died in October, 
1818, at the age of seventy-four, wife of one 
President and mother of another. 

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Thomas Jefferson, third President of the 
United States, was inaugurated 1801; served 
two terms, lie zealously pursued whatever 
would promote the interests of his country. 
The Declaration of Independence was adop¬ 
ted very nearly as he wrote it. He was 
born in Virginia, in 1743. He died on the 
same day with John Adams, on the fiftieth 
anniversary of American independence, J uly 
4, 1826. 

MRS. THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

The wife of our third President had been 
dead many years before he was called to the 
Whi te House, and what receptions there 
were during his administrations were super¬ 
intended by his daughters. Mrs. Jefferson 
had been a widow several years, though still 
under twenty-five, when she married again 

O / 

Lin 1772, Thomas Jefferson, the young and 
talented lawyer and member of the provin¬ 
cial legislature. History tells us she was 
beautiful, accomplished, had received a solid 
education, was well read, and intelligent. 






She was the mother of six children, only two 
of whom lived to mature years. She lived 
to realize some of the horrors of war, but not 
long enough to share the highest honors 
that crowned her husband’s life. She was 
born in Virginia, in 1749, and died May, 1782. 
thirty-three years of age. 

JAMES MADISON. 

James Madison, fourth President of the 
United States, inaugurated 1809, served two 
terms. He was a distinguished member of 
the convention which prepared the Consti¬ 
tution of the United States. He urged its 
adoption, and wrote various essays on the 
subject, which may be found in “The Fed¬ 
eralist.” He was born in Virginia, March 16, 
1751, and died at Montpelier, June 28, 1836. 

MRS. JAMES MADISON. 

The wife-of our fourth President had been 
a widow but a short time when she married 
Mr. Madison, in 1794. He was at that time 
a member of Congress, and a man of consid¬ 
erable wealth. After their marriage they 
lived at “ Montpelier” for some years. Her 
first experience of life in Washington was as 
the wife of a cabinet officer, during which 
her genial and unostentatious manners ren¬ 
dered her very popular. In 1810, when Mr. 
Madison was elected President, her friends 
all knew that, as far as she was concerned, 
her husband’s administration would be suc¬ 
cessful. She was just thirty-seven when she 
entei'ed the White House, in perfect health 
and beauty. Through the war, which com¬ 
menced in 1812, she showed presence of 
mind and remarkable courage on many oc¬ 
casions. Her dress was never extravagant, 
but elegant though plain. When, in 1817, 
President Madison’s term expired, she left 
many dear friends and relatives in the city 
so long her home, and retired with her hus¬ 
band to the private life of their home in 
Virginia. After the death of her husband 
she lived many years in Washington, beloved 
and respected. She was born in 1772, in 
North Carolina, and died in Washington 
City, 1849. 

JAMES MONROE. 

James Monroe, fifth President of the 
United States, was inaugurated 1817 ; served 
two terms. Though he entered upon his 
administration in a time of peace and com¬ 
parative prosperity, he had been a soldier in 
the Revolutionary war. He was a states¬ 
man as well as a warrior. He was born in 
Virginia, April 28, 1758; died July 4, 1831. 


MRS. JAMES MONROE. 

The wife of our fifth President was the 
daughter of a captain in the British army, 
who, after the peace of 1783, adopted this 
country as his home. We gather from vague 
history that this marriage took place about 
the time of the meeting of Congress in New 















105 


RESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


York, in 1789. Mr. Monroe was then Sen¬ 
ator from Virginia. Mrs. Monroo was pos¬ 
sessed of very winning manners, and beauty 
of face and form. Accustomed to elegant 
society, she was well fitted to represent her 
countrywomen at the French court, whither 
she accompanied her husband when he was 
appointed Minister to France. When he 
was chosen Governor of Virginia she added 
to his popularity by her refined hospitality 
and sociability, lie was a second time sent 
to Franco, and afterwards Minister to Lon¬ 
don, and his wife accompanied him, passing 
ten years in Europe, after which they lived 
in retirement at Oak Ilill, their Virginia 
home, till 1817, when Mr. Monroe was chosen 
President. She dispensed the honors of the 
V hite House for eight years. Mrs. Monroe 
died at Oak Ilill in 1830, and in less than a 
year afterwards her husband also died, .1 uly, 
1831. 

JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 

John Quincy Adams, sixth President of 
the United States, was inaugurated 1825. 
During the Presidency of his father he was 
minister to Berlin. lie was also one of the 
commissioners to negotiate peace in 1S14. 
He was born in Braintree, Massachusetts, 
July 11,17G7. Died February 23,1848, after 
a short illness. He was frequently called 
“ the old man eloquent.” 

MRS. JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 

The wife of our sixth President was the 
daughter of Mr. Johnson, of Maryland. She 
was born in Jjondon, in 1775, her father be¬ 
ing commissioner from the United States, 
where he remained until the peace of 1782. 
She was married to Mr. Adams in London, 
in 1797, and accompanied her husband to 
Berlin, to which place he was appointed 
Minister, and during four years of life in the 
highest social and political circles she made 
many friends. In 1801 they returned to 
the United States, and settled in Boston, 
until her husband was appointed Minister to 
Russia, when she determined to go with 
him, taking their youngest child, and after 
a dangerous voyage they arrived in St. 
Petersburg in October, where she remained 
nearly six years, separated from her children, 
and enduring with courage many trials and 
disappointments. She returned to Washing¬ 
ton in 1817, when her husband was appointed 
Secretary of State, and during eight years 
enlivened and amused the society that fre¬ 
quented her house. When, at last, her hus¬ 
band was elected President, and she was in¬ 
stalled in the White House, her health had 
failed so much she could only preside upon 
occasions of public receptions. In February, 
1848, President Adams died. Mrs. Adams 
died in 1852, and was buried at Quincy, 
Massachusetts. 

14 


ANDREW JACKSON. 

Andrew Jackson, seventh President of 
the United States, was inaugurated 1829. 
He awakened much political opposition by 
the determined manner in which he carried 
out his views on the "Tariff” and “Bank” 
questions, lie served in the American army 
of the Revolution, though only fourteen 
years old. He was born in North Carolina, 
in 1767. Died at his residence, the Hermit¬ 
age. .1 une 8, 1845. 

MRS. ANDREW JACKSON. 

The wife of our seventh President was 
the daughter of Col. John Donelson, of Vir¬ 
ginia, also her native State. Rachel Donel¬ 
son was quite young when her father led a 
colony into the wilds of Tennessee. In 1794 
she married Andrew Jackson, who was then 
a very successful lawyer, though only 
twenty-five years old, and who was in a short 
time sent to the Senate. They lived for 
many years on their splendid estate near 
Nashville, called the Hermitage. Mrs. Jack- 
son was warm-hearted, good-tempered, and, 
like her husband, very hospitable. She 
never had any children, but adopted a sis¬ 
ter’s son, to whom the general gave his own 
name, and made him his heir. When Jack- 
son was appointed Governor of Florida, his 
wife accompanied him, and also to New Or¬ 
leans in 1828, where he was given a grand 
reception. Her health had been declining 
for some years, and by the time her husband 
was elected to the Presidency it was a sub¬ 
ject of doubt whether she would live to be 
the hostess at the White House, and these 
fears were too truly realized, for, on the 
23d of December, when great preparations 
were going forward at Nashville for a great 
banquet to the President elect and his wife, 
the news reached the city of her sudden 
death from an illness of only a few hours, and 
thus was rejoicing changed into mourning, 
for apart from being the President’s wife, 
she was loved and honored by the commu¬ 
nity in which she had spent so many years. 
She was buried at the Hermitage, a simple 
monument being placed over the vault; a 
tablet contains the inscription which bears 
testimony to her worth. She died December 
22, 1828, sixty-one years old. 

MARTIN VAN BUREN. 

Martin Van Buren, eighth President of 
the United States, was inaugurated 1837. 
His father’s circumstances were humble, and 
the son was able to obtain only a limited 
education. The financial condition of the 
country, at the time of his election, was ter¬ 
ribly shaken. In one month, the number of 
heavy failures in New York was two hun¬ 
dred and sixty, and the national treasury 
was plunged into a state of bankruptcy. He 
was born in New York in 1782. Died July 
24, 1862. 


MRS. MARTIN VAN BUREN. 

The wife of our eighth President was of 
Dutch descent. Her ancestors were sturdy 
pioneers, who had settled along the Hudson, 
and here Hannah Hoes was born, in the year 
1782. She was in her childhood the school¬ 
mate of her future husband, who was but a 
few months her senior. The attachment, 
formed in childhood, strengthened with time, 
and as soon as Mr. Van Buren’s business 
justified the step they were married, in 1807. 
They lived for some years in Hudson City, 
after which they removed to Albany, where 
his vigorous intellect and great learning won 
for him wealth and fame. But consumption 
was fast claiming his beloved wife as its vic¬ 
tim, and spite of all that love and devotion 
could do she passed away, at the early age 
of thirty-six. She was gentle and winning 
in manner, always kind to the poor, and 
ministering to their needs as far as in her 
power. She died February 5, 1819, mourned 
by a large circle of relatives and friends. 
Long years elapsed before the bereaved hus¬ 
band was called to the Presidency, and then 
her place, as lad} T of the White House, was 
filled by her son’s wife, the President’s be¬ 
loved daughter-in-law. 

WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON. 

William Henry Harrison, ninth Presi¬ 
dent of the United States, was inaugurated 
in 1841. He was educated at the William 
and Mary College. He was in the U. S. 
Army; served against the Indians, and 
gained the battle of Tippecanoe. He was 
born in Virginia, 1773. Died April 4, 1841. 
just one month after his inauguration. 

MRS. WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON. 

The wife of our ninth President was born 
in the State of New Jersey. She lost her 
mother in infancy, and her father, Colonel 
John Symmes, placed her under the care of 
her grandparents till after the war. Anna 
Symmes was born July 25, 1775, and the 
stirring events of her childhood no doubt 
helped to form that solidity of character 
which in after-years carried her through. 
When about eighteen she went West, with 
her father, who had married a second time, 
and located a colony at North Bend, Ohio. 
It was while on a visit to her sister, in Ken¬ 
tucky, that she met her future husband, then 
Captain Harrison. They were married in 
1795. Soon after their marriage, Harrison 
resigned his commission, and was sent the 
first delegate to Congress from the Northwest 
Territory. Ilis wife accompanied him to 
Philadelphia, then the seat of government. 
While he was Governor of Indiana his wife 
and family lived at the capital, where she 
was for many years loved and respected. 
During these years she had passed through 
sore trials in the death of many of her 
children and grandchildren, yet she bore all 








1 (Hi 


•RESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


with Christian fortitude. When it became 
evident that her husband would be called to 
the Presidency, she regretted the prospect 
of her quiet home being broken up, for life 
at Washington offered no temptations for 
her; and when at last the inaugural cere¬ 
monies actually took place, she was too ill 
to take part in them, little dreaming of the 
sad news that would shortly rend her heart. 
His illness and death, while she was just 
about starting to the capital, was a cruel 
blow to her loving heart, yet she survived 
her husband many years, dying at eighty- 
eight, on the 25th of February. 1804. 

JOHN TYLER. 

John Tyler, tenth President of the United 
States, was inaugurated in 1841, becoming 
President by the death of Harrison. He 
commenced his political career at the early 
age of twenty-one. In 1826 he was Governor 
of Virginia. His veto of the United States 
Bank Bill gave great offence to his con¬ 
stituents. He was born in Virginia in 1790 ; 
died January 17, 1802. 

MRS. LETITIA CHRISTIAN TYLER. 

The first wife of our tenth President was 
Letitia Christian, third daughter of Robert 
Christian, Esq., of Cedar Grove, New Kent 
County, Virginia. He was a gentleman of 
good private fortune, and an attached friend 
and adherent of George Washington. He 
possessed high social and political influence. 
For many years he was the presiding magis¬ 
trate of his county, and representative to 
the Legislature. Letitia was born at Cedar 
Grove, in 1790; was remarkable for loveli¬ 
ness of person and character. At the age of 
twenty-one she married John Tyler, a rising 
and talented young lawyer, and son of Gov¬ 
ernor Tyler of Virginia. The Christian 
family being numerous and powerful in lower 
Virginia, united in his favor both the great 
political parties of the day, his own father 
the friend of Henry and Jefferson, and rep¬ 
resentative of the State Rights Republicans, 
and his wife’s father, Mr. Robert Christian, 
the friend of Washington and a prominent 
leader among the Federalists. For years 
they lived at “ Green way,” the family estate, 
in almost uninterrupted happiness. This 
marriage took place on the 29th of March, 
1813. Being twice Governor of his native 
State, and for many years in the United 
States Senate, he was to a great extent sep¬ 
arated from his family. Mrs. Tyler always 
preferred the quiet of her own home, where 
the care of her children, of whom there were 
many, left her few idle minutes, and her 
truly domestic oversight of homo matters 
saved her husband much pecuniary embar¬ 
rassment. In 1841 Mrs. Tyler proceeded 
with her husband to the Executive Mansion 
at Washington, though her health had been 
for some time very bad, and she was obliged 


to delegate one of her daughters to the 
honors. Her health continued to fail, and in 
September, 1842, a second attack of paralysis 
proved fatal, and she passed into eternity. 
She was buried at Cedar Grove, the place of 
her birth, New Kent County, Virginia. 

MRS. JULIA GARDINER TYLER. 

The second wife of President Tyler was 
Miss Julia Gardiner, the daughter of a 
wealthy gentleman residing on Gardiner’s 
Island. This being the first occasion of the 
marriage of a President, created great inter¬ 
est all through the country. The ceremony 
was performed in New York City, June 26, 

1844, after which the bridal party returned 
to the White House. For the remaining 
eight months of her husband’s administra¬ 
tion she did the honors of the Executive 
Mansion, making many friends. After his 
retirement from public life they returned to 
Virginia, where they resided till his death, 
which took place seventeen years after, Jan¬ 
uary 17, 1862. 

JAMES K. POLK. 

James Iv. Polk, eleventh President of the 
United States, was inaugurated in 1S45. His 
administration formed a great era in the 
history of our country. His career was daz¬ 
zling and triumphant, though short. He 
had but sufficient time after the close of his 
term of office to reach his home, where he died, 
June 15.1849. Born in North Carolina, 1795. 

MRS. JAMES K. POLK. 

The wife of our eleventh President was 
Sarah Childress, the daughter of Captain 
Joel Childress of Tennessee. She was born 
September 4, 1803. She was educated at an 
institute in North Carolina, where she re¬ 
mained some years, returning to her home 
when her school-days were over. She was 
married at nineteen to James K. Polk, who 
was then a member of the Legislature and 
soon after sent to Congress. Mrs. Polk 
always went to Washington with her hus¬ 
band, and as he was in Congress fourteen 
sessions, and after that speaker of the House 
of Representatives, she passed many winters 
at the capital, where she held a conspicuous 
place in society and became very popular. 
She was a highly cultivated woman, having 
had every advantage the times afforded, and 
informed herself fully in political affairs, 
being interested in all that related to her 
husband. In 1839, Mr. Polk' being made 
Governor of Tennessee, they removed to 
Nashville, where Mrs. Polk, by her affability 
and winning manners, added much to her 
husband’s popularity; and when, March 4, 

1845, on Mr. Polk being inaugurated Presi¬ 
dent, she assumed the duties of the White 
House, her charming hearing only increased 
hei popularity. At the expiration of his 
presidential term they returned to Nashville 
to their home, ever since known as “Polk 


Place.” Mrs. Polk survived her husband, 
and still lived, after the late war, in Tennes¬ 
see. 

ZACHARY TAYLOR. 

Zachary Taylor, twelfth President of 
the United States, was inaugurated in 1849. 
He was a general in the Indian wars in 
Florida, and was very popular during the 
Mexican war. He was distinguished by 
the sobriquet of “ Rough and Ready.” He 
was born in Virginia, in 1784. Died July 9 
1850. During his administration gold was 
discovered in California. He died before 
his term of office had expired. 

MRS. ZACHARY TAYLOR 
The wife of our twelfth President was 
1 Margaret Smith. She came of a substantial 
Maryland family, and received such educa¬ 
tion as was at the command of the women 
in those times. In all the years when Gen¬ 
eral Taylor was a soldier on the frontier 
Mrs. Taylor was with him, sharing the 
hardships and attending to the duties of her 
life. When her children were old enough to 
be sent from her she sent them to her rela¬ 
tions East to be educated, thus sacrificing 
herself for their good. Mrs. Taylor was op¬ 
posed to her husband being a candidate for 
the Presidency. She felt that neither she nor 
her husband were fitted for the restraints of 
! city life, beside which she longed for a quiet 

! domestic home, and when at last shefolloAved 

1 

her husband to the White House, she sel¬ 
dom appeared at public receptions, and left 
her accomplished daughters to do the honors, 
and when, after a short illness, her husband 
was taken from her by death, she felt that it 
was truly “ a plot to deprive her of his so¬ 
ciety.” Her sad heart could not be com¬ 
forted, and she herself passed away in the 
second year of her widowhood. 

MILLARD FILLMORE. 

Millard Fillmore, thirteenth Presidentof 
the United States, was inaugurated in 1850. 
He practised law, and his political life com¬ 
menced early. The death of General Taylor 
elevated him to the Presidency. During his 
administration postage was reduced to three 
cents all over the United States; also, the 
corner-stone of the Capitol at Washington 
was laid. He was born in New York in 
1800. Died March 8, 1872. 

MRS. MILLARD FILLMORE. 

The wife of our thirteenth President was 
Abigail Powers, a daughter of Lemuel 
Powers, a Baptist minister of Saratoga 
County, New York, where Abigail was born 
in March, 1798. Her father died while she 
was an infant, so that her education and train¬ 
ing devolved upon her mother, who was fully 
capable of the trust. After Mrs. Powers 
became a widow, she removed to a frontier 
county, and here were learned those lessons 
of sacrifice that moulded the child’s noble 















107 


PRESIDENT JAMES 


A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 


JOURNAL. 


character, and she developed into a thorough 
scholar and remarkable woman. She was 
commanding in person, and of rare beauty. 
She was married to Mr. Fillmore in 1826. 
lie was at this time a struggling lawyer, 
but, in two years was sent to the Legislature, 
after which his success in political life was 
assured. After her husband’s inauguration 
she went to the V lute House, and being of 
a cultivated and refined taste, she did the 
honors of her position with dignity, and was 
much admired and beloved. She died in 
March, 1853, in Washington City. Her re¬ 
mains were conveyed to Buffalo, where they 
were laid to rest. She left a son and daughter. 
The daughter, after a very short and sudden 
illness, passed away soon after the mother’s 
death, leaving the father and brother doubly 
bereaved. She ivas wonderfully gifted, and, 
had her life been spared, would have become 
famous through some one of her many tal¬ 
ents. 

FRANKLIN PIERCE. 

Franklin Pierce, fourteenth President of 
the United States, was inaugurated in 1853. 
He practised law, and entered upon public 
life as Representative for his native State. 
He was a volunteer in a Neiv Enaland regi- 
ment during the Mexican war, but raised 
himself to the rank of Brigadier-General. 
He was born in 1804, in New Hampshire. 
Died October 8, 1869, aged sixty-five. 

MRS. FRANKLIN PIERCE. 

The wife of our fourteenth President 
was Jane Means Appleton, born in New 
Hampshire in 1806. She was the daughter 
of Rev. Jesse Appleton, D.D., President 
of Bowdoin College. In 1834, at the age 
of twenty-eight, she was married to the 
Hon. Franklin Pierce, a member of Con¬ 
gress, but she always preferred the quiet 
New England home to the fashionable life 
at Washington. None of her children sur- 
vived her, and the death of the last, under 
very tragic circumstances, shattered her 
health and desolated her heart. This was 
shortly before she was called to do the hon¬ 
ors of the White House, but though suffer¬ 
ing in mind and body, she always took her 
part in the public receptions, dispensing the 
honors with a quiet dignity that elicited re¬ 
spect and admiration. In 1857 she accom¬ 
panied her husband on a trip through Eu¬ 
rope, which for a time benefited her health. 
On the 5th of December, 1863, she was 
buried beside her children at Concord, New 
Hampshire. She was a woman of remark¬ 
able natural endowments, and had been care¬ 
fully, though liberally, educated. She was 
also a woman of rare delicacy and refined 
tastes, and shrank from any public display 7- , 
and was well worthy of the wealth of love 
and tenderness which it was always her 
privilege to enjoy. 


JAMES BUCHANAN. 

James Buchanan, fifteenth President of 
the United States, was inaugurated in 1857. 
He adopted law as a profession, after a reg¬ 
ular classical education. During his admin¬ 
istration the electric telegraph and submarine 
cable were first put in use. He was born in 
Pennsylvania, in 1791. Died June 1, 1868, 
aged seventy-seven. 

MISS HARRIET LANE. 

As our illustrious fifteenth President never 
married, we shall give a short sketch of 
M iss Harriet Ijane, the daughter of his 
dcarly-beloved sister, and who, losing both 
parents when yet a child, was adopted by 
Mr. Buchanan, whose loving care secured 
for her a finished education. Being fond of 
music, she made rapid progress in it, and 
when she at last left school-days behind her 
she had graduated with high honors. When, 
in 1852, Mr. Buchanan went as Minister to 
England, he took his niece with him, and 
I thus, under his illustrious prestige, she en¬ 
tered English societ} 7 . Although so sprightly 
and genial, she was never indiscreet, and, as 
a representative American woman, the wo¬ 
men of America have reason to congratulate 
themselves that so fair a specimen was pre¬ 
sented at the Court of St. James. When Mr. 
Buchanan was elected President, his niece 
became mistress of the White House, and she 
dispensed the onerous duties of the position 
with her accustomed grace and dignity. 
During the last months of his administration, 
when party feeling ran riot and no man did 
justice to another, and her uncle was har¬ 
assed on all sides, her position became one of 
great delicacy, but her good sense carried her 
through this critical time. Once more we 
find them at Wheatland, in 1861, enjoying 
the retirement from public life. In 1866 she 
was married to Henry Elliot Johnston, of 
Baltimore. At Wheatland she ministered to 
her uncle’s dying days, and received his last 
loving words as his spirit passed from earth. 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

Abraham Lincoln, sixteenth President of 
the United States, was inaugurated in 1861. I 
He overcame many obstacles in early life, 
and, by great energy and application, studied 
the law as a profession, and was admitted to 
the bar at the age of twenty-eight. He made 
his first speech in Congress in 1848. During 
his Presidency he issued the famous Emanci¬ 
pation Act, January 1,1863. He was elected 
to a second term, on which he entered March 
4, 1865, and was assassinated April 14th of 
same year. He was born in 1809. Died April 
14, 1865, aged fifty-six. 

MRS. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

The wife of our sixteenth President, Mary 
Todd, is the daughter of the Hon. Robert S. 


Todd, of Lexington, Kentucky. Her family 
and connections were among the most refined 
and distinguished people. As a young lady, 
she was considered witty and brilliant, and to 
have a very strong will. She was ambitious, 
and by her ready insight into character ap¬ 
preciated the talent of the young politician, 
Mr. Abraham Lincoln, whom she first met 
in society in 1839, and the friendship then 
begun led up to their marriage in November, 
1842. Thus did destiny place her feet on 
the first round of the ladder that led to the 
White House. Four years later he was 
elected to Congress. Mrs. Lincoln did not 
' accompany her husband to Washington at 
this time, but remained with her children at 
Springfield. A few more years bring us 
up to the 4th of March, 1861, when, her hus¬ 
band inaugurated President of the L T nited 
States, she assumed the duties and dispensed 
the honors of the position she had predicted 
for herself while vet a verv young girl. The 
first levee was held on the 9th of March, 
and Mrs. Lincoln, surrounded by her chil¬ 
dren and friends, received the congratula¬ 
tions of the multitude. She was tastefully 
attired, and her appearance was dignified 
and elegant. The death of her son, a few 
' months after, threw a gloom over her life, 
and for a time there was no gavetv at the 
Executive Mansion; but in 1864 the “ Recep¬ 
tions” were renewed. All this time relentless 
war devastated our land, and the cries of the 
wounded and bereaved ones fell on every 
heart, bringing sadness and sorrow to thou¬ 
sands. Coming to the White House, as Mrs. 
Lincoln did, at a time of political strife and 
bitterness, that had developed into the war, 
she was naturally subjected to severe, and 
many times ungenerous, criticisms; but the 
awful tragedy that ended her husband’s life 
and sent her from the Executive Mansion 
a heart-broken, lonely widow, has woven 
around her a halo of sympathy from even- 
wife and mother in our land, that forever 
shields her from the curious or unjust. 

ANDREW JOHNSON. 

Andrew Johnson, seventeenth President 
of the United States, was inaugurated in 
1865. He was one of those self-made men 
who achieve great things by perseverance 
and energy. He was Mayor of his own 
city in 1830. He was twice Governor of 
Tennessee. Was Vice-President of the 
United States in 1865, and President from 
1865 to 1869. He was born in 1808. Died 
July 31, 1S75, aged sixty-seven. 

MRS. ANDREW JOHNSON. 

The wife of our seventeenth President 
was Eliza McCardle. the daughter of a 
widowed mother, and native of Tennessee. 
She was married at the age of seventeen to 
Andrew Johnson, then a poor young man, 
working all day and studying at night to 










108 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


secure the education lie could get in no 
other way. She had received a solid educa¬ 
tion, and was able to help her husband in 
his determination to study. She was re¬ 
markable both for beauty and intelligence, 
and to her zeal and encouragement her 
husband owed his success in after-life. First 
an Alderman, then Mayor tor three terms 
in his own State, were the sure steps to that 
crowning honor which was to reward her 
constancy and his ambition. In the spring 
of 1861, All's. Johnson spent two months in 
Washington with her husband, then a Sena¬ 
tor, but failing health compelled her to re¬ 
turn to Tennessee. The breaking out of the 
war soon after separated her husband from 
his family for nearly two years, and in their 
efforts to join him in Washington they en¬ 
countered many hardships and dangers. In 
March, 1865, Mr. Johnson assumed the 
duties of Vice-President, and the assassina¬ 
tion of Mr. Lincoln, a few weeks after, called 
him to till the Presidency, and he was im¬ 
mediately sworn into office. These events 
changed the plans of Mrs. Johnson, and she 
joined her husband in Washington. She 
was never able to do the honors of the 
White House, being a confirmed invalid, but 
her daughters, Mrs. Patterson and Mrs. 
Stover, assisted their father at his first re¬ 
ception, January 1, 1866, and nothing 

could excel the elegant simplicity of their 
dress and quiet ease of manner, which at 
once stamped them superior women. On 
the 4th of March, 1869, President John¬ 
son, accompanied by his family, bade adieu 
to the servants and employes of the Man¬ 
sion ; friends and admirers crowded round 
to express their attachment and sorrow at 
parting. 

ULYSSES S. GRANT. 

Ulysses S. Grant, eighteenth President of 
the United States, was inaugurated in 1869; 
he served two terms. lie entered West Point 
in 1839. He was a captain in the Mexican 
war in 1847. He was Commander of the 
United States Army in 1864, and was Presi¬ 
dent eight years. He was born in Point 
Pleasant, Ohio, April 27, 1822. 

MRS. ULYSSES S. GRANT. 

The wife of our eighteenth President, Mrs. 
Ulysses S. Grant, was installed mistress of the 
White House, March 4, 1869. Her hus¬ 
band was the youngest man who has occu¬ 
pied the Presidential office, and his wife was 
still young enough to enjoy the gayeties of 
the high social position to which she was 
called. Their children, too, were quite 
young, and merry laughter resounded 
through the halls, and childish prattle and 1 
the natter of little feet echoed through the 
grand rooms. General Grant’s military 
reputation insured him a popular adminis¬ 
tration, and he was elected to a second term, 
making eight years, during which the honors 
of the Executive Mansion were dispensed by 


Mrs. Grant. Their trip round the world was 
remarkable as one grand succession ol fetes 
and receptions, in honor, not only to an cx- 
President of the United States, but to the 
most successful military officer of the late 
war. 

RUTHERFORD 15. HAYES. 

Rutherford B. IIayes, nineteenth Presi¬ 
dent of the United States, inaugurated 1877, 
served one term. lie was a member of the 
Harvard College Law School, and com¬ 
menced practice in 1845. He was a major 
in the Union army in 1861. Was Governor 
of Ohio for three terms, from 1868 to 1872. 
Born in Ohio in 1822. 

MRS. RUTHERFORD B. HAYES. 

The wife of our nineteenth President, Miss 
Lucy Webb, is a native of Ohio, and was 
educated at the Ohio Female College, Dela¬ 
ware, and at the Wesleyan Female College, 
Cincinnati, at the latter of which she gradu¬ 
ated. Since her marriage with Mr. Hayes, 
who was then a young attorney, she has 
been associated with many phases of public 
life. As the Avife of the Governor of Ohio, 
and as lady of the White House, she has 
combined with rare excellence the dignity of 
refined culture Avith unaffected simplicity 
and gentleness of manner. She has mani¬ 
fested a special sympathy, both as a visitor 
and contributor, for the soldiers’ homes, and 
for the asylums for soldiers’ orphans, and 
for the deaf, dumb, blind, and insane, and her 
presence has been hailed Avith delight by the 
poor and suffering inmates. Early in life 
she united with the Methodist Episcopal 
Church, of Avhich her mother had been for 
many years a devout member. In even' 
position which she has filled she has main¬ 
tained a high Christian character, in her 
purity of life, her attendance on divine Avor- 
sliip, her interest in moral and reformatory 
enterprises, and in using her influence in be¬ 
half of the highest morality and virtue. 

(For the above article Ave are indebted to “ Cyclo- 
piedia of Methodism,” L. II. Everts, Publisher, 
Philadelphia.) 

JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

James A. Garfield, tAventicth President 
of the United States, Avas a graduate of Wil¬ 
liams College, 1856. Admitted to the bar 
in 1860. Elected to Congress in 1862, re¬ 
elected in 1865, again in 1868, and was in 
the Senate in 1880. Was elected President, 
and inaugurated March 4, 1881. On July 2, 
1881, was assassinated. Born in Ohio in 
1831. Died September 19, 1881, aged fifty. 

MRS. JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

The wife of our twentieth President Avas 
Miss Lucretia Rudolph, of Ohio. She Avas 
married to James A. Garfield, November 11. 
1858. She had been a pupil of her husband 
when he Avas teaching, one part of the year, 
to pay his college expenses the other. In 


1859 he Avas elected to the State Senate, and 
through all his ambitious, active life his wife 
was his counsellor and friend. “ Lawnfield,” 
the Mentor home, owes most of its beauty 
to Mrs. Garfield’s taste and skill. Here, for 
years, they lived a happy, united family, but 
the steady upward path of her husband, 
from the presidency of the college to the 
Presidency of the United States, installed 
Mrs. Garfield as mistress of the White House. 
The terrible event that made her life in the 
Executive Mansion a protracted agony is of 
too recent a da^e to be Avritten of without 
opening again the Avound, but her heroic 
endurance and devotion have endeared her to 
the millions of wives and mothers of America. 
We can still hope that time, that great healer, 
Avill give her strength and courage to endure 
to the end, that her children may “rise up 
and call her blessed.” 

CHESTER A. ARTHUR. 

Chester A. Arthur, twenty-first Presi¬ 
dent of the United States, is the son of a 
clergyman of the Baptist denomination, who 
came from Ireland to America. At the age 
of fifteen ho entered college, and graduated 
Avith high rank in 1848. He adopted Irav as 
his profession, and in 1852 Avas admitted to 
the bar. During the late Avar he Avas In¬ 
spector-General and Quartermaster-General. 
He Avas elected Vice-President, and took the 
oath of office on the 4th of March, 1881. He 
Avas SAvorn into office as President, September 
20,1881. He Avas born in Vermont. October 
5, 1830. 

ELLEN DAVIS HERNDON ARTHUR. 

This admirable lady, Avhose untimely death 
took place on the 12th of January, 1880, Avas 
the wife of President Chester A. Arthur. 
She Avas born in Fredericksburg, Virginia, 
and. her father Avas Captain William Lewis 
Herndon, U.S.N., Avhose name is best re¬ 
membered in connection Avith the loss of the 
ill-fated ship “Central America,” which foun¬ 
dered in 1857, Avith a loss of three hundred 
and twenty-six lives. The heroic conduct 
displayed by Captain Herndon on that occa¬ 
sion Avas of that kind AA r hich is rarely met 
Avith in a lifetime. While the ship Avas going 
down he remained manfully at his post, and 
succeeded in saving every woman and child 
on board, he himself remaining behind, and 
perishing Avith the ship. 

Coming from such a stock, it Avas impos¬ 
sible for Mrs. Arthur to haA r e exhibited less 
of the excellent qualities of heart and mind 
for which she Avas distinguished. In com¬ 
municating to the public the news of her 
death, the Albany Evening Journal said, 
“ It is a mournful piece of intelligence, and 
Avill fall with crushing weight of sorrow upon 
the hearts of all Avho knew Mrs. Arthur. 
She was one of those rare and radiant souls 
Avhom to know is to love and admire. It is 
given to no woman to inspire warmer friend- 









109 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


ships. As winning in manner as she was 
tender and true of heart, she was a favorite 
wherever she moved. In all the relations of 
life, as daughter, wife, mother, friend, she 
illustrated all that gives to womanhood its 
highest charm, and commands for it the 
purest homage.” 


[From the Home Journal.] 

ARRIERE-PENSEE. 

BY CARLOTTA PERRY. 

I wed with Celeste to-morrow— 

Celeste, the stately and grand ! 

She gives me all the heart she has, 

I give her my name anti hand ; 

And the wise old world pronounces us 
The happiest in the land. 

She is beautiful as a princess, 

As stately as a cpicen ; 

If only a little humility 

Would soften her regal mien— 

If only a little tenderness 

Would shine in her eyes serene! 

Why should I think of that other face; 

Of the hair of tangled gold ; 

Of the eyes that shone up into mine 
With a wealth of love untold ! 

Oh ! why should I count this memory 
The sweetest that life can hold ? 

Like a perfume sweet across my soul 
Comes the thought of that sunny day, 

When we drifted out on the river’s breast, 
’Neath the soft, bright skies of May— 

When our souls were so near each other 
That the world seemed far away. 

Here is a handful of fragrant dust, 

Once a rose on her breast; 

Here is a curl that many a time 
With kisses has been pressed— 

These can be put away ; but where 
Can memory find its rest? 

Often, now, when I kiss her lips, 

And look in my new love’s face, 

I seem to feel the dear dead lips, 

Come back to claim their place, 

And the new love’s regal air is changed 
To the old love’s winning grace. 

I have never told this to Celeste— 

Celeste, the stately and grand! 

She knows the value of silk and lace, 

Of the diamond on her hand ; 

Rut the wealth and worth of this tender love 
She would never understand. 

So I wed with Celeste to-morrow— 

Celeste, the stately and fair. 

I’ll cover this grave in the vanished past 
With flowers sweet and rare; 

And none in the world, save me alone, 

Will know what a grave is there. 


WHO WAS MY QUIET FRIEND?” 

BY BRET IIARTE. 

“ Stranger!” 

The voice was not loud, but clear and pen¬ 
etrating. I looked vainly up and down the 
narrow darkening trail. No one in the 
fringe of alder ahead ; no one on the gullied 
slope behind. 

“ 0! stranger!” 

This time a little impatiently. The Cali¬ 
fornia vocative, “ 0,” always meant business. 

I looked up and perceived for the first 
time, on the ledge thirty feet above me, 
another trail parallel with my own, and look¬ 
ing down on me through the buckeye bushes 
a small man on a black horse. 

Five things to be here noted by the cir¬ 
cumspect mountaineer. First, the locality— 
lonely and inaccessible and away from the 
regular faring of teamsters and miners. 
Secondly , the stranger’s superior knowledge 
of the road from the fact that the other trail 
was unknown to the ordinary traveller. 
Thirdly , that he was well armed and 
equipped. Fourthly , that he was better 
mounted. Fifthly , that any distrust or tim¬ 
idity arising from the contemplation of these 
facts had better be kept to oneself. 

All this passed rapidly through my mind 
as I returned bis salutation. 

“ Got any tobacco?” he asked. 

I had, and signified the fact, holding up 
the pouch inquiringly. 

“ All right, I’ll come down. Ride on, I’ll 
jine ye on the slide.” 

“ The slide ?” Here was a new geographi¬ 
cal discovery as odd as the second trail. I 
had ridden over the trail a dozen times and 
seen no communication betwmen the ledge 
and the trail. Nevertheless I went on a 
hundred yards or so, when there was a sharp 
crackling in the underbrush, a shower of 
stones on the trail, and my friend plunged 
through the bushes to my side down a grade 
that I should scarcely have dared to lead my 
horse. There was no doubt he was an ac¬ 
complished rider—another fact to be noted. 

As he ranged beside me I found I was not 
mistaken as to his size; he was quite under 
the medium height, and, but for a pair of 
cold gray eyes, was rather commonplace in 
features. 

“You’ve got a good horse there,” I sug¬ 
gested. 

He was filling his pipe from my pouch, 
and looked up a little surprised, and said, 
“Of course.” He then puffed away with 
the nervous eagerness of a man long de¬ 
prived of that sedative. Finally, between 
the puffs, he asked me whence 1 came. 

J replied from “ Lagrange.” 

He looked at me a few moments curiously, 
but on my adding that I had only halted 
there for a few hours, he said, “ I thought 
1 know every man between Lagrange and 


Indian Spring, but somehow 1 sorter disre- 
member your face and your name.” 

Not particularly caring that he should re¬ 
member cither, I replied, half laughingly, 
that as I lived the other side of Indian 
Spring, it was quite natural. He took the 
rebuff—if such it was—so quietly, that as 
an act of mere perfunctory politeness, I 
I asked him where he came from. 

“ Lagrange.” 

“ And you are going to-” 

“ Well! that depends pretty much on how 
things pan out, and whether I can make the 
riffle.” He let his hand rest quite uncon¬ 
sciously on the leather holster of his dra¬ 
goon revolver, yet with a strong suggestion 
to me of his ability “ to make the riffle” if 
he wanted to, and added, “But just now I 
was reek’nin’ on taking a little pasear with 
you” 

There was nothing offensive in his speech, 
save its familiarity and the reflection, per¬ 
haps, that whether I objected or not, he was 
quite able to do as he said. I only replied 
that if our pasear was prolonged bej’ond 
Heavy tree Hill, I should have to borrow his 
beast. To my surprise, he replied, quietly, 
“ That’s so,” adding that the horse was at 
my disposal when he wasn’t using it. and 
half of it when he was. “Dick has carried 
! double many a time before this,” he con- 
I tinued, “and kin do it again; when your 
; mustang gives out. I'll give you a lift, and 
! room to spare.” 

I could not help smiling at the idea of ap¬ 
pearing before the boys at Red Gulch en 
croupe with the stranger; but neither could 
I help being oddly affected by the suggestion 
that his horse had done double duty before. 
“On what occasion, and why?” was a ques- 
1 tion I kept to myself. We were ascending 
the heavy flank of the Divide; the narrow¬ 
ness of the trail obliged us to go slowly and 
in file, so that there was little chance for 
conversation, had he been disposed to satisfy 
: my curiosity. 

We toiled on in silence, the buckeye giving 
place to chimisal, the westering sun. reflected 
> again from the blank walls beside us, blind¬ 
ing our eyes with its glare. The pines in 
i the canon below were olive gulfs of heat, 
over which here and there a hawk drifted 
j lazily, or, rising to our level, cast a weird 
and gigantic shadow of slowly-moving wings 
on the mountain side. The superiority of 
the stranger’s horse led him often far in 
advance, and made me hope that he might 
forget me entirely, or push on, grown weary 
by waiting. But regularly lie would halt 
by a boulder, or reappear from some chimisal. 
where he had patiently halted. 1 was begin¬ 
ning to bate him mildly, when at one of 
those reappearances he drew up to my side, 
and asked me how 1 liked Dickens! 

Had he asked me my opinion of Huxley 
or Darwin, I could not have been more 









110 


PRESIDENT JAMES 


A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


astonished. Thinking it were possible that 
he referred to some local celebrity of La¬ 
grange, I said, hesitatingly,— 

“You mean-?” 

“ Charles Dickens. ()f course you’ve read 
him? Which of his books do you like best?” 

I replied with considerable embarrassment 
that I liked them all—as I certainly did. 
He grasped my hand for a moment with a 
fervor quite unlike his! usual phlegm, and 
said, “ That’s me, old man. Dickens ain’t no 
slouch. You can count on him pretty much 
all the time.” 

With this rough preface, he launched into 
a criticism of the novelist, which for intelli¬ 
gent sympathy and hearty appreciation I 
had rarely heard equalled. Not only did he 
dwell upon the exuberance of his humor, 
but upon the power of his pathos and the 
all-pervading element of his poetry. I had 
considered myself rather a diligent scholar 
of the great master of fiction, but the 
stranger’s felicity of quotation and illustra¬ 
tion staggered me. It is true that his I 
thoughts were not always clothed in the 
best language, and often appeared in the 
slouching, slangy undress of the place and 
period, yet it was rustic or homespun, and 
sometimes struck me with its precision and 
fitness. Considerably softened towards him, 

I tried him with other literature. But 
vainly. Beyond a few of the lyrical and 
emotional poets he knew nothing. Under 
the influence and enthusiasm of his own 
speech, he himself had softened consider¬ 
ably ; ottered to change horses with me, 
readjusted my saddle with professional skill, 
transferred my pack to his own horse, in¬ 
sisted on my sharing the contents of his 
whiskey-flask, and, noticing that I was un¬ 
armed, pressed upon me a silver-mounted 
derringer which he assured me he could 
“warrant.” These various offices of good 
will and the diversion of his talk beguiled 
me from noticing the fact that the trail was 
beginning to grow obscure and unrecogniz¬ 
able. We were evidently pursuing a route 
unknown before to me. I pointed out the 
fact to my companion a little impatiently, 
lie instantly resumed his old manner and 
dialect. 

“Well, I reckon one trail’s as good as ! 
another, and what hev ye got to say about 
it?” 

I pointed out with some dignity that I 
preferred the old trail. 

“Mebbe you did. But you’re jiss now 
talcin’ a pasear with me. This yer trail will 
bring you right into Indian Spring, and un¬ 
noticed, and no questions asked. Don’t you 
mind now, I’ll see you through.” 

It was necessary here to make some stand 
against my strange companion. I said firmly, 
yet as politely as I could, that I had pro¬ 
posed stopping over night with a friend. 

“ Whar ?” 


I hesitated. The friend was an eccentric 
Eastern man, well known in the locality for 
his fastidiousness and his habits as a recluse. 
A misanthrope of ample family and ample 
means, he had chosen a picturesque but se¬ 
cluded valley in the Sierras, where he could 
' rail against the world without opposition. 
“Lone Valley,” or “Boston Ranch,” as it 
was more familiarly called, was the one spot 
that the average miner both respected and 
feared. Mr. Sylvester, its proprietor, had 
never affiliated with “ the boys,” nor had he 
ever lost their respect by any active opposi¬ 
tion to their ideas. If seclusion had been 
bis object lie certainly was gratified. Never¬ 
theless, in the darkening shadows of the 
night, and on a lonely and unknown trail, I 
hesitated at repeating his name to a stranger 
of whom I knew so little. But my mys¬ 
terious companion took the matter out of 
my hands. 

“Look yar,” he said, suddenly, “ tliar ain’t 
but one place twixt yer and Indian Spring 
whar you can stop, and that’s Sylvester’s.” 

I assented, a little sullenly. 

“ Well,” said the stranger, quietly, and with 
a slight suggestion of conferring a favor on 
me, “ ef you’re pointed for Sylvester’s, why, 
I don't mind stopping tliar with ye. It’s a lit¬ 
tle off the road—I’ll lose some time—but 
taking it by and large, I don’t much mind.” 

I stated, as rapidly and as strongly as I 
could, that my acquaintance with Mr. Syl¬ 
vester did not justify the introduction of a 
stranger to his hospitality ; that he was quite 
unlike any of the people here ; in short, that 
he was a queer man, etc., etc. 

To my surprise my companion answered, 
quietly, “Oh, that’s all right. I’ve heard of 
him. Ef you don’t feel like checking me 
through, or you’d rather put ‘ C. O. D.’ on 
my back, why it’s all the same to me. I’ll 
play it alone. Only you just count me in. 
Say ‘ Sylvester’ all the time. That’s me.” 

What could I oppose to this man’s quiet 
assurance. I felt myself growing red with 
anger and nervous with embarrassment. 
What would the correct Sylvester say to 
me ? What would the girls—I was a young j 
man then, and had won an entree to then- 
domestic circle by my reserve—known by a 
less complimentary adjective among the 
“ boys”—what would they say to my new 
acquaintance? Yet I certainly could not 
object to his assuming all risks on his own 
personal recognizances, nor could I resist a 
certain feeling of shame at my embarrass¬ 
ment. 


\\ r e were beginning to descend. In the 
distance below us already twinkled the 
lights in the solitary rancho of Lone Val¬ 
ley. I turned to my companion. “ But 
you’ve forgotten that I don’t know your 
name. What am I to call you ?” 

“That’s so,” he said, musingly. “Now, 
let’s sec. ‘ Kearney’ would be a good name! 


It’s short and easy like. Thar’s a street in 
’Frisco the same title. Kearney it is.” 

“But-” I began, impatiently. 

“ Now you leave all that to me,” he inter¬ 
rupted, with a superb self-confidence that I 
could not but admire. “ The name ain’t no 
I account. It’s the man that’s responsible. 
Ef I was to lay for a man that I reckoned 
was named Jones, and after I fetched him 
I found on the inquest that his real name 
was Smith—that wouldn’t make no matter, 
as long as I got the man.” 

The illustration, forcible as it was, did not 
strike me as offering me a prepossessing in¬ 
troduction, but we were already at the rancho. 
The barking of dogs brought Sylvester to 
the door of the pretty little cottage which 
his taste had adorned. 

I briefly introduced Mr. Kearney. “Kear¬ 
ney will do—Kearney’s good enough for me,” 
commented the soi-disant Kearney, half aloud, 
to my own horror, and Sylvester’s evident 
mystification, and then lie blandly excused 
himself for a moment, that he might person¬ 
ally supervise the care of his own beast. 
When he was out of earshot, I drew the 
puzzled Sylvester aside. 

“I have picked up—I mean I have been 
picked up on the road by a gentle maniac, 
whose name is not Kearney. He is well 
armed, and quotes Dickens. With care, ac¬ 
quiescence in his views on all subjects, and 
general submission to his commands, he may 
be placated. Doubtless the spectacle of your 
helpless family, the contemplation of your 
daughter’s beauty and innocence may touch 
his fine sense of humor and pathos. .Mean¬ 
while, Heaven help you, and forgive me.” 

I ran up-stairs to the little den that my 
hospitable host had kept always reserved for 
me in my wanderings. I lingered some time 
over my ablutions, hearing the languid, gen¬ 
tlemanly drawl of Sylvester below, mingled 
with the equally cool, easy slang of my mys¬ 
terious acquaintance. When I came down 
to the sitting-room I was surprised, however, 
to find the self-styled Kearney quietly^ seated 
on the sofa, the gentle May Sylvester, 
the “Lily of Lone Valley,” sitting with 
maidenly awe and unaffected interest on 
one side of him, while on the other that 
arrant flirt, her cousin Kate, was practising 
the pitiless archery of her eyes with an ex¬ 
citement that seemed almost real. 

“ Who is your deliciously cool friend ?” she 
managed to whisper to me at supper as I sat, 
utterly dazed and bewildered, between the 
enrapt May Sylvester, who seemed to hang 
upon his words, and this caddy cirl of the 
period, who was emptying the battery of 
her charms in active rivalry upon him. "Of 
course, we know his name isn’t Kearney. 
But how romantic! And isn’t he perfectly 
lovely? And who is he?” 

1 replied, with severe irony, that I was 
not aware what foreign potentate was then 





















Ill 


president James a. garfield’s memorial journal. 


travelling incognito in the Sierras of Califor¬ 
nia, but that when his Royal Highness was 
pleased to inform me, I should be pleased to 
introduce him properly. “ Until then,” I 
added, “ 1 fear the acquaintance must he 
Morganatic.” 

“ You’re only jealous of him,” she said, 
pertly. “Look at May—she is completely 
fascinated. And her father, too.” And ac¬ 
tually the languid, world-sick Sylvester was 
regarding him with a boyish interest and 
enthusiasm almost incompatible with his 
nature. Yet, I submit honestly to the clear¬ 
headed reason of my own sex, that I could 
see nothing more in the man than I have 
already delivered to the reader. 

In the middle of an exciting story of ad¬ 
venture, of which he, to the already preju¬ 
diced minds of his fair auditors, was evidently 
the hero, he stopped suddenly. 

“ It’s only some pack-train passing the 
bridge on the lower trail,” explained Syl¬ 
vester. “ Go on.” 

“ It may be my horse is a trifle oneasy in 
the stable,” said the alleged Kearney. “ He 
ain’t used to boards and covering.” 

Heaven only knows what wild and de¬ 
licious revelation lay in the statement of 
this fact, but the girls looked at each other 
with cheeks pink with excitement as Kear¬ 
ney arose and, with quiet absence of cere¬ 
mony, quitted the table. 

“Ain’t he just lovely!” said Kate, gasping 
for breath ; “ and so witty.” 

“Witty!” said the gentle May, with just 
the slightest trace of defiance in her sweet 
voice. “Witty, my dear? Why, don’t you 
see that his voice is just breaking with 
pathos? Witty, indeed! Why, when he 
was speaking of that Mexican woman that 
was hung, I saw the tears gather in his eyes. 
Witty, indeed!” 

“Tears!” laughed the cynical Sylvester. 
“ Tears,—idle tears ! Why, }’ou silly chil¬ 
dren, the man is a man of the world—a 
philosopher, quiet, observant, unassuming.” 

“Unassuming!” Was Sylvester intoxi¬ 
cated, or had the mysterious stranger mixed 
the “insane herb” with the family pottage? 
He returned before I could answer this self- 
asked inquiry, and resumed coolly his broken 
narrative. Finding myself forgotten in the 
man I had so long hesitated to introduce to 
my friends, I retired to rest early, only to 
hear, through the thin partitions, two hours 
later, enthusiastic praises of the new guest 
from the voluble lips of the girls, as they 
chatted together in the next room before 
retiring. 

At midnight I was startled by the sound 
of horses’ hoofs and the jingling of spurs 
below. A conversation between my host 
and some mysterious personage in the dark¬ 
ness was carried on in such a low tone that 
I could not learn its import. As the caval¬ 
cade rode away, I raised the window. 


“ What’s the matter?” 

“Nothing,” said Sylvester, coolly; “only 
another one of those playful homicidal freaks 
peculiar to the country. A man was shot 
by Cherokee Jack over at Lagrange this 
morning, and that was the sheriff of Cala¬ 
veras and his posse hunting him. I told him 
I’d seen no one but you and your friend. 
By the way, I hope the cursed noise has not 
disturbed him. The poor fellow looked as 
if he wanted rest.” 

I thought so, too. Nevertheless, I went 
softly to his room. It was empty. My im¬ 
pression was that he had distanced the sheriff 
of Calaveras about two hours. 


MAXIMS FOR YOUNG MEN. 

Always speak the truth. 

Make few promises. 

Keep good company or none. 

Live up to your engagements. 

Never gamble. 

Drink no intoxicating liquors. 

Never speak lightly of religion. 

Be just before you are generous. 

Never be idle. 

If your hands cannot be usefully em¬ 
ployed, attend to the cultivation of the mind. 

When you speak to any person look him 
in the face. 

Good company and good conversation are 
the very sinews of virtue. 

Good character is above all things else. 

Never listen to idle or loose conversation. 

Your character cannot be essentially in¬ 
jured except by your own acts. 

If any one speaks evil of you let your life 
be so virtuous that no one will believe him. 

Ever live (misfortune excepted) within 
your income. 

When you retire to bed think over what 
you have done during the da} T . 

Make no haste to be rich if you would 
prosper. 

Never run in debt unless you see a way to 
get out again. 

Never borrow if it is possible to avoid it. 

Keep yourself innocent if you would be 


Save when you are young and spend when 
you are old. 

Never think that which you do for religion 
is time or money misspent. 


An honest reputation is within the reach 
of all men; they obtain it by social virtues 
and by doing their duty. This kind of repu¬ 
tation, it is true, is neither brilliant nor 
startling, but it is often the most useful for 
happiness. 


CROW BLACKBIRDS EAT FISH. 

Forest and Stream publishes the following 
from a correspondent whose statements can 
be relied on. The “crow blackbird” abounds 
in this locality, and lives principally on 
grubs, with an occasional nip at the far¬ 
mers’ corn. 

Many of our readers may be surprised to 
learn that the crow blackbirds (Quiscalus pur- 
pureus ) eat fish, and they also catch them. 
Last winter, when I was hiding among the 
reeds on the shore of St. John’s River near 
Lake Jessup in Florida, with the expectation 
of shooting some ducks, I observed a com¬ 
motion among the crow blackbirds in the 
vicinity. They were congregated in great 
numbers around a pond that communicated 
with the river near the place where I was 
sitting. I expected from their excited be¬ 
havior that “something was up;” that some 
unusual adventure was soon to occur. They 
were reinforced by frequent additions to their 
number. Their resplendent feathers reflected 
in diversified colors the rays of the post-me¬ 
ridian sun, for be it known that the plu¬ 
mage of these birds in the semi-tropical at¬ 
mosphere of Florida is pre-eminently more 
brilliant than in the comparatively rigorous 
climate of the North. I soon entered Avith 
spirit into the circumstances of the occasion, 
and watched the course of “ornithological 
events.” Every accompaniment asserted the 
poetry of the scene. 

'Twas peaceful and serene—the day was fair; 

I quaffed the fragrance of the balmy air. 

The birds, with feathers puffed, strut proudly 
’round— 

With eyes expectant they survey the ground ; 

They rummage o’er the shore, and keenly pry, 

Then scan the water with a crafty eye. 

Just then a great splash was heard in the 
water that startled the birds, but instead of 
flying away in alarm they made a stampede 
from the place Avhence the noise proceeded, 
and croAvded the shore in its vicinity. Be¬ 
fore I could comprehend the significance of 
this performance another splash Avas made 
on the other side of the pond, and away 
scampered the birds to the same place and 
the mystery Avas soon elucidated. 

The large bass, often called trout, in the 
fresh Avatersof Florida, being' a voracious fish, 
cause great terror and consternation to the 
small fry. These frequent the shoal water 
near the margin of the ponds and creeks 
connected Avith the St.John's River, as a place 
of refuge and fancied security from the at¬ 
tacks of their dreaded foe—the bass. The 
letter are shrewd enough to learn the habits of 
their favorite food, and pursue them into the 
shoal water. When they make a charge at 
their prey they usually spring partly out of 
the water, making a great splash and noise. 
At the same time the small fry jump out of 
the water in alarm, in their efforts to escape, 







112 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


and many of them fall on the shore. But 
they find the “ tire” just ns uncomfortable 
ns the l> frying-pan,” ns the blackbirds, being 
on the look-out for the assnult of the buss, 
pounce upon the unfortunnte smnll fish nud 
gobble them up before they nre nblo to seram- 
ble back into the wntcr. This performance 
was repented many times, nnd was still pro¬ 
ceeding when I took my depnrture. On one 
occasion 1 exnmined the stomnch of one of 
those buss in order to useertnin what he had 
taken for breakfast. In it 1 found a rat that 
had evidently been imprisoned but a short 
time. 

ARE PARLORS USEFUL? 

Not long ago we noticed, in one of our 
exchanges, a plea written by a woman in de¬ 
fence of the parlor, and it struck us as con¬ 
taining not a little good sense. It is a com¬ 
mon thing, especially for men whose active 
hours are spent away from home, to deride 
the idea of having the most elegant and 
tasteful room in the house closed against 
common use, and kept sacred to callei's and 
state occasions. Ten to one the man of the 
house considers morning calls a fashionable 
bore, with no good reason for existing, and 
cordially hates all state occasions. The par- ; 
lor strikes him as a cave of gloomy magnifi¬ 
cence, kept not for comfort or use, but to | 
gratify vanity and a love of show. On rare j 
occasions he may enjoy some festivity there 
for which no other place would be exact!} 7 
fitted, but he soon forgets that, and thinks 
really the sitting-room would do as well for j 
any little social affair that the family needs 
to have. 

But the woman who has taste and delicate 
sensibilities, and who is anxious that her j 
domestic establishment should appear well 
in the eyes of visitors, feels that the parlor 
is indispensable. She must spend her time j 
at home. There are her labors and her 
cares, there for the most part her hours of 
rest and refreshment. She has no club to j 
go to, no other home to which she can es- 
cape when the toil and worry of the day are 
over. She may do her best to keep her 
house neat and in good condition, but the 
rooms of common use will get disordered. 
Children are ingenious in the promiscuous 
distribution of playthings and derangement 
of furniture; they are heedless of' appear- J 
anees, and cannot be made otherwise with¬ 
out being made unhappy. The sitting-room 
is in constant use, and it is impossible to 
preserve in it the gloss of elegance. Cur¬ 
tains will get worn, carpets faded, and furni¬ 
ture shabby ; and with the children’s pranks 
and the housemaid’s carelessness, fine orna¬ 
ments and objects of beauty are hardly safe 
in a common sitting-room. It may be made 
cosey and comfortable, and have some sort 
of barbaric splendor even; but the exacting 


taste and desire for freshness and neatness 
of the model lady of the house demand 
something different from this. 

Is it a wonder that she would have the i 
parlor kept sacred from every-day intrusion? 
That she would have one room in which a 
rich carpet may be preserved in its richness, 
in which curtains may always be fresh and 
furniture look like new, and in which pic¬ 
tures and ornaments will be safe from domes¬ 
tic vandals? It is a pardonable pride that 
leads her to desire such a room in which to 1 
receive her guests, who might not always 
be sufficiently considerate and charitable 
towards the inevitable disorder of a common 
room. It is natural for her to desire some 
such elegant and tasteful retreat when she 
is wearied with the cares of the household 
and longs for rest and refreshment. There 
she may get away for an hour from the fret 
and worry, and feel revived and renewed. 
And those state occasions, are they not 
worth while?—the festivities of a Christmas 
eve, and tasteful surroundings, and in a room 
whose elegance, however unpretending and 
inexpensive, is something different from the 
hackneyed and every-day commonplace, and 
may contribute largely to the pleasant mem¬ 
ories of a lifetime. Is it not well for the 
children to be admitted now and then to a 
room which will have the charm of novelty, 
and convey an impression of elegance and 
splendor? Will it not cultivate taste and 
develop the aesthetic instincts? It seems, 
after all, when we consider the plea in de- j 
fence of the parlor, that its right to exist 
has been vindicated, and that it lias its uses. 

PINS IN ENGLAND. 

A calculation made forty years ago stated 
that for home use and export purposes j 
20,000,000 pins were required daily in Eng¬ 
land. The real quantity now produced is 
50,000,000 pins per day, of which Birming¬ 
ham produces 37,000,000, leaving 13,000,000 
as the production of London, Stroud, and j 
Dublin, where pins are also made. The ! 
weight of wire consumed annually in the pin 
manufacture of England is about 1275 J tons, j 
or 2,857,120 pounds, one-eighth of which is 
iron wire, used in the manufacture of mour¬ 
ning and hair pins. The brass wire con¬ 
sumed amounts to 2,500,000 lbs., which, at 
11 d. per lb. in money iron value, reaches the 
sum of £114,583. The wire consumed is 
344,800 lbs., its value £7183 05. 6 d., and to 
bo added to these amounts are the wages, 
paper, and ornamental boxes, wear and tear 
of machinery, manufacturers’ profits, etc. 
Taking it altogether the pin manufacture of 
the United Kingdom is not overestimated at 
the aggregate amount of £200,000. Of course 
the reader asks the old conundrum, “ What 
becomes of them?” The answer is easy, 
yet people do not seem to remember the 


answer. They rust out. Corrosion ends them; 
probably more than ninety per cent, of all 
that are made disappear from this cause 
alone. 

WINTER SONG. 

FROM THE GERMAN. 

Summer joys are o’er, 

Elow’rets bloom no more; 

Wintry winds are sweeping, 

Through the snow-drift peeping, 
Cheerful evergreen 
Rarely now is seen. 

Now no plumed throng 
Charms the wood with song; 
Ice-bound trees are glittering, 

Merry snow-birds twittering, 

Fondly strive to cheer 
Scenes so cold and drear. 

Winter, still I see 
Many charms in thee; 

Love thy chilly greeting, 

Snow-storms fiercely beating, 

And the dear delights 
Of the long, long; nights. 

o' o o 


HARD WORK. 

Men who use their muscle imagine that 
men who depend upon their brains are 
strangers to hard work. Never was there a 
greater mistake. Every successful merchant 
does more real hard work in the first ten 
years of his business career than a farmer or 
blacksmith ever dreamed of. Make up your 
mind to work early and late, if necessary, 
that you may thoroughly master the details 
of the business upon which you propose to 
enter. The habit of persistent, rapid work 
once formed, you have gained a momentum 
that will carry you satisfactorily through 
many a pinch in business, where a less per¬ 
sistent worker would find it vastly easier to 
lie down and fail. 


TIME AND MONEY. 

Many people take no care of their money 
till they have come nearly to the end of it; 
and others do just the same with their time. 
Their best days they throw away,—let them 
run like sand through their fingers, as long 
as they think they still have an almost 
countless number of them to spend; but 
when they find their days flowing rapidly 
away, so that at last they have very few 
left, then they would at once make a very 
wise use of them ; but unluckily, they have 
by that time no notion how to do it. 













PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


113 


WAS IT BY ACCIDENT? 

“Clara! Clara!” 

The call was an imperative one, in a voice 
that was urgent and hurried, a voice so un¬ 
like Mr. Goodman’s usual tone that Clara 
hurried away from her baking to answer it. 
She found her grandfather in the hallway of 
the large farm-house, his face pale and 
agitated. 

“ Clara,” he said, “ where is your aunt 
Eunice ?” 

“ In the milk-house.” 

“Send for her, and take Jane from any¬ 
thing she may be doing. There has been a 
frightful accident at the bend, on the rail¬ 
way, and there are scores of wounded and 
dying there. Pull all the beds apart and 
make them up on the lower floor. This is 
the nearest house, and I have told them to 
bring all we can possibly tend here.” 

It was sickening tidings, a terrible field of 
duty, but Clara Goodman was no affected, 
missy girl to scream and faint, but a true, 
whole-souled woman, though she had seen 
but eighteen summers. She called her aunt ( 
and the servant, while the farmer and two j 
strong men on the farm helped busily turn¬ 
ing the whole lower floor into a temporary 
hospital, where, even before they Avere in 
readiness, these true Samaritans had to make 
place for their patients. Aunt Eunice, a pale, 
sad woman, nearing forty, seemed to wonder¬ 
ing Clara to work with more cheerfulness 
than she ever put into her daily life of toil, as 
the groaning, suffering travellers were put 
under her care. 

There were many helping hands among I 
the uninjured passengers, and Mr. Goodman 
only said,— 

“ The house and all in it are yours. Work 
how and where there is most need.” 

Surgeons were there, and Clara’s light feet 
and active hands were kept flying every¬ 
where to wait upon such as needed an assist¬ 
ant. Mr. Goodman and his men had taken 
up their post in the large dining-room, where 
the men were brought, while the women were 
in the seldom-opened parlor, under the care 
of Eunice and Clara. 

It seemed as if there was no more room 
for even one more, when, nearly two hours 
after the first patient arrived, four men ap¬ 
peared at the door, carrying a burden 
already too familiar to all within the house. 

“Can you take him a little farther?” the 
farmer asked, coming to the door. “ I am 
afraid we could not make him comfortable.” 

One of the men bearing the senseless 
burden said,— 

“He asked to come here, sir, just before 
he fainted. He can’t last long, the surgeon 
said, and I thought mayhap he was a 
friend.” 

Mr. Goodman leaned over the pallid face, 
studying it closely. When he once more 
stood erect, he had a countenance almost as 
15 


ghastly as the one before him, while he 
murmured,— 

“ A friend ? Ileaven save me from such 
a friend.” 

Again he called,— 

“Clara!” 

And again the fair, brown-eyed girl, pale 
with the scenes she had borne a brave part 
in, came quickly to answer. 

“ Is there one vacant bed, Clara ?” 

“Only your own, grandfather. We could 
not take that down, and Aunt Eunice said 
Ave had better keep one.” 

“ She Avas right! Follow me!” he added, 
turning to them. “We Avill care for this 
man.” 

He led the way to his oavh room, Avhere 
an old-fashioned bed, very large and clumsy, 
Avas neatly made up. Here the burden of 
senseless humanity Avas gently deposited, 
and the man Avho had spoken before said, 
respectfully,— 

“The doctor Avho examined him, Mr. 
Goodman, bade me tell you there Avas no 
hope; but if you give him a mouthful or 
two of brandy, he may revive to say to you 
Avhat is on his mind. All he has said Avas, 
‘ Carry me to WilloAv Farm. I Avas on my 
way there. I must see Mr. Goodman.’ ” 

“Thank you; I Avill do as the doctor 
directs,” said the old farmer, speaking Avith 
painful effort. “ I knew this man once, 
nearly twenty years ago.” 

The men left then, hurrying back to offer 
fhcir already wearied arms to aid still fur¬ 
ther in the Avork calling them. And Mr. 
Goodman, opening a closet, took out the last 
bottle of brandy, kept sacred for sickness, 
but freely distributed on that day. 

As he put the spoon to the blue, stiff lips, 
his daughter came in. 

“Clara told me—” she began, and then, 
Avith a shivering Avail, she sank do\A 7 n upon 
her knees, crying,— 

“ Charles Crawford! Dead!” 

“ And if he were,” said her father, sternly, 
“ has he not been Avorse than dead to you for 
years ?” 

“Oh, if he will speak but once ! Father, 
if he will only tell you—what—you—have 
never—believed!” 

The Avoi’ds came from the white, shivering 
lips slowly and in a hoarse Avliisper. Even 
Avhilo they were on the Avoman’s lips the 
dying man opened his eyes. He lay Avhere 
he could see the old farmer, standing erect 
beside him, but Eunice was hidden, as she 
had crouched at her father’s feet. 

“ Goodman.” 

The whisper, low and faint, thrilled the 
heart of the Avoman, and she would have 
risen, but her father’s hand upon her shoul¬ 
der kept her down. 

“You have something to say to me,” the 
farmer said, sloAvly and sternly. “Can you 
give me one good reason why 1 should not 


give you a father’s curse to carry to your 
grave ?” 

“Father, father, be merciful!” whispered 
a voice unheard by the dying man. 

“ I Avas coming—late as it is—to you—” 

The faint voice faltered, and. motioning to 
Eunice not to rise, Mr. Goodman put the 
brandy once more to the patienVs lips. 

“Has—she—Eunice—been here all these 
years ?” 

“ She has.” 

“ Thank God!” 

“ For what?” and the old man’s voice Avas 
full of a concentrated rage that was Avorse 
to hear because it Avas scarcely above a whis- 
per. “ For Avhat, Charles Crawford ? That 
you stole my only child like a thief in the 
night, to send her back dishonored? That 
her child has groAvn to xvomanhood, bearing 
her mother’s name, shut out from all com¬ 
panionship by her mother’s shame?” 

“Her child! I never knew or thought of 
that; but there Avas no shame, why do you 
use that Avord ? Eunice could not bear the 
blame that her husband—” 

A sharp cry rang through the room, and 
the Avoman sprang to her feet, Avhile the old 
farmer said, eagerly,— 

“Her husband? Say that again.” 

But Charles CraAvford Avas looking hun¬ 
grily into eyes that rained tears upon his 
face. 

“ Eunice, Eunice, I have so Avronged you ! 
I lied to you Avhen I said our marriage Avas 
a mockery; but it Avas avarice,—love of gold 
tempted me! My father Avould not hear of 
my marrying any one but my cousin, and I 
wronged you! She is dead, Eunice,—she 
Avho has believed herself my Avife,—and I 
Avas coming to you. In my pocket, Mr. 
Goodman—look there—the marriage certifi¬ 
cate—my will—all to Eunice—all—May I 
see—our—child ?” 

He fainted again as he spoke, and for a 
weary hour it seemed as if death had already 
claimed his own. While Eunice AAmtched 
and strove to revive her husband, Mr. Good¬ 
man went down-stairs to seek Clara. There 
Avere many there to attend to the Avounded, 
and Jane had sent the child out to the porch 
to rest after the fearful strain she had suf¬ 
fered physically and mentally. 

Here her grandfather found her, and gen¬ 
tly leading her to a summer-house in a se¬ 
cluded corner of the garden, told her the sad 
story of her mother’s life. 

“You have believed yourself an orphan,” 
he said, gravely, “ and we have guarded you 
from the gossiping tongues that might have 
told you Avhat the village has belieA’ed. But 
vour mother is the living woman known as 
your aunt, and your father lies in my room, 
dying. He Avishes to see you.” 

“No! No!” cried the shuddering girl. “I 
can never forgive him ! I cannot! I cannot! 
All these years he has let my mother bear a 









111 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


burden that crushes woman to the earth, 
has denied his wife, his child. I will not see 
him! I will not! 1 cannot!” 

She was sobbing bitterly, and her grand¬ 
father folded her in his arms, saying,— 

“.lust so I felt, Clara ! Just so my heart 
turned from him, from the sight of his lace, 
the sound of his voice. But your mother 
has borne the sufferings for years, lias been 
worse wronged than you or me. She has 
forgiven him. He is dying, Clara.” 

“ Must I go ?” Clara said, lifting her wet 
face to the grave but kind face bending over 
her. “Is it my duty?” 

“ I think so. I will take you to the 
room.” 

“ My father! What father have I ever 
known or needed but you ? You sa} 7 he was 
coming here ?” 

“ So he has said. Dying lips seldom lie, 
Clara.” 

“Father!” again the girl whispered. 
“ Grandfather, one question more. Was— 
was the shadow over my mother the reason 
you sent Walter Haven from me?” 

“ I did not tell him so, Clara. I knew 
that I could trust your promise, and I only 
told him he must not hope to win you.” 

“ I am glad I know. I never doubted 
you, but—it was very hard. Shall we go 
now ?” 

Hand in hand the two returned to the 
house where so much human misery had 
found a temporary haven, and to the room 
where the man who had thrown the blackest 
shadow upon the inmates struggled in death- 
throes. He had revived under the efforts of 
his wife, but only to agonize her by con¬ 
vulsive movements, wandering eyes, and 
whispers of delirium. 

“Charles!” she cried, taking the head 
rolling on the pillow into her tender arms, 
“ she is here! Our child—Clara !” 

“ Our child!” he said, ceasing for a moment 
the restless motions so distressing to witness, 
“our child. Eunice?” 

“ I am here, dear.” 

“ Let me see her—the child!” 

And, trembling, Clara was led to the bed¬ 
side to meet the gaze of the large eyes 
already growing dim in death. 

“Bring — witnesses — ” gasped Charles 
Crawford, and the farmer called some of 
the strangers from down-stairs. 

They stood in amazed silence, while the 
dying man, lifted to the broad chest of the 
father he had so bitterly wronged, struggling 
for breath, said,— 

“ I want you to witness—my last words— 
this is my wife—Eunice Crawford—my 
child—Clara Crawford—in my pocket the 
marriage certificate—and my will—my pro¬ 
perty—all—to—my wife—my wife Eunice— 
who—has—forgiven me!” 

A gasp, a struggle, and the end had come. 
In the arms of the man of all men he had 


sinned against most deeply, Charles Craw¬ 
ford lay dead. 

It was many long weeks before the widow 
or her daughter knew the significance of 
some of his last words. There was mournful 
work for both in the rooms below, and nobly 
they ministered to the suffering strangers 
thrown upon their care. Some follow 7 ed 
Charles Crawford to the grave, some went 
their way entirely well, under good nursing; 
but winter winds were blowing where sum¬ 
mer fruit was ripening at the time Charles 
Crawford died, before the farmer had only 
his own family under his roof. 

Then, while they rested, the news came 
that Charles Crawford had left a large 
fortune to Eunice, his wife; that Clara 
would be a great heiress. But before this 
was known, Mr. Goodman had sent for 
Walter Haven, the young law-student who 
loved his granddaughter, and there had 
been a solemnly happy betrothal. 

In a far western city where none knew of 
the past, Mr. and Mrs. Haven, Mrs. Crawford 
and Mr. Goodman form a happy united 
family. But Eunice Crawford, if ever the 
day is spoken of among them that con¬ 
vinced her father of the truth of her life¬ 
long assertions, will whisper mournfully,— 

“The accident! Ah, no, it was not acci- 
j dent, but Providence, that brought Charles 
Crawford to die in my father’s house.” 


THE UNFORTUNATE TOAD. 

“ Once upon a time there lived a toad who 
had but three legs, having lost one of his 
hind legs!” 

“ Was it shot off in war?” asked Emma. 

“ I do not know how he lost it,” said papa. 

“ He may have lost it in a battle with a 
snake. All I know is that he had but one 
hind leg, and that in jumping over the 
ground he reminded one very much of a 
crippled soldier. This old toad, being thus 
badly crippled, was put to many shifts in 
order to get his daily bread.” 

“ Toads don’t eat bread, do they?” asked 
Mary. 

“No, flies, and such things,” said papa, 

“ which take the place of bread with toads. 

“He had to use his wits so much that he 
soon became very wise. He used to hide 
under a leaf or bunch of grass; and by 
pouncing upon unwary flies, he was able to 
get quite a good living. 

" One day lie hobbled into a garden, and 
squatted under a cabbage-leaf, hoping to 
catch a nice fly for his dinner. But he was 
very tired; and before long he was fasti 
asleep. When he awoke it was quite dark. 

1 Ob, dear!’ he said, ‘I have overslept my¬ 
self. How hungry I am ! I wonder if I can 
find a fly in the dark.’ So saying, he began 
to hop along, when down he went into a pool 


of muddy water. He sank to the bottom, 
but by kicking lustily soon got his head 
above water. Then he swam around trying 
to find something to rest upon. At last he 
came upon a little hummock of earth in the 
middle of the pool, and there he sat waiting 
for morning. When morning came the toad 
found that he was in a great square pit that 
had been dug by the gardener in making an 
asparagus bed. The poor toad sat there all 
that day and the following night without a 
bit to eat. The next day he was delighted 
to see two little girls come into the garden. 

“ ; Now I shall be helped out,’ thought he. 

£ Those dear little girls will be my friends.’ 

“They were dressed in white frocks, with 
brown sashes, and had on their heads chip 
hats trimmed with brown.” 

“Oh, papa!” said Emma, “that is just the 
way Mary and I dress!” Papa went on 
without any reply. 

“ When the little girls came to the pit, the 
older cried out,— 

“‘Oh, look at that old toad sitting in the 
water!’ 

“‘Let us throw dirt at him,’ said the 
smaller. 

“So both little girls threw dirt and sticks 
at the toad, which raised such waves around 
him that he was in danger of being washed 
off. 

“ 1 Oh, dear,’ said the toad, ‘ who would 
have thought those girls would be so cruel?’ 
Just then a big piece of dirt struck the poor 
toad upon the head, and laid him sprawling 
on his back in the water. 

“ When the toad had recovered from the 
blow, and had crawled back to his resting- 
place, he noticed a man with a hoe on his 
shoulder, approaching the pit. 

“ ‘ Oh, deal',’ said the toad, ‘ here comes a 
great rough man ; now I certainly shall be 
killed.’ 

“ But the man put his hoe under the toad, 
lifted him carefully out of the pit, and laid 
him out upon the dry grass. 

“‘Well, I never,’ said the toad. ‘Who 
would have thought it? One can’t always 
judge by appearance.’ ”—The Methodist. 


WHY FLOWERS HAVE DIFFERENT HOURS FOR 
BLOOMING. 

Sir John Lubbock alludes to the fact that 
at certain particular hours flowers close. 
The reason for it, however, is obvious, for 
flowers which are fertilized by moths and 
other night-flying insects would derive no 
advantage by being open by day, and on 
the other hand, those fertilized b} T bees 
would gain nothing by being open at night. 
The closing of flowers, he believes, has ref¬ 
erence to the habits of insects, and it must 
l»e confessed that the opening and closing ot 
flowers is gradual, and that the hours vary 
greatly according to circumstances. 









PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


115 


THE OLD MAN’S DREAM. 

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

Oh, for one hour of youthful joy! 

Give back my twentieth spring! 

I’d rather laugh, a bright-haired boy. 
Than reign a gray-haired king. 

Off with the wrinkled spoils of age; 

Away with learning’s crown; 

Tear out life’s wisdom-written page, 
And cast its trophies down. 

One moment let my life-blood stream 
From boyhood’s fount to fame; 

Give me one giddy ruling dream 
Of life, and love, and fame. 

My listening angel heard the prayer, 
And calmly smiling, said,— 

“If I but touch thy silvered hair. 

Thy hasty wish had sped ; 

“ But is there nothing in the track 
To bid tboe fondly stay, 

While the swift seasons hurry back 
To hud the wislied-for day?” 

Ah, truest soul of woman-kind ! 

Without thee what were life? 

One bliss I cannot leave behind— 

I’ll take 1113 * precious wife. 

The angel took a sapphire pen. 

And wrote in rainbow hue: 

“ The man would be a boy again, 

And be a husband too. 

“And is there nothing yet unsaid, 
Before the change appears ? 
Remember, all thy gifts have fled 
With these dissolving years.” 

Why, I would one favor more— 

My fond paternal joys: 

I could not bear to lose them all; 

I’ll take my gilds and boys. 

The smiling angel dropped his pen— 

“ Why, this will never do ; 

The man would be a boy again. 

And be a father too!” 

And so I laughed. My laughter woke 
The household with its noise ; 

I wrote my dream when morning broke. 
To please my girls and boys. 


Some men never lose heart, but always 
look on the bright side. We met one the 
other night. His umbrella was blown into 
tatters, and be was fairly soaked through. 
To our “Pretty wet night,” he answered 
cheerily, “Well, yes, kinder; but then it’s a 
blamed good thing for mill-ponds and sicli.” 
That’s the kind of spirit we like to see in a 
man. 

Is it a sign of hard times in the West? 
An advertisement in a Western paper wants 
“a boy to open oysters fifteen years old.” 


THE LAW OF CONTENTION. 

“Oh, Frank, come and see how hot my 
saw gets when I rub it. When I draw it 
through the board a while, it’s hot enough 
to set fire to it.” 

“ That’s the friction,” said Frank, with all 
the superior wisdom of two years more than 
Eddie boasted. 

“ Yes,” said sister Mary, who was passing, 
“ it’s the friction ; but do you know what it 
makes me think of?” 

“Mo; what?” asked both the boys at 
once. 

“ Of two little boys who were quarrelling 
over a tribe this morning, and the more 
the } 7 talked, the hotter their temper grew, 
until there was no knowing what might 
have happened if their mother had not 
thrown cold water on the fire by sending 
them into different rooms.” 


THE PRECIOUS LITTLE HERB. 

Two little German girls, Brigitte and 
Wallburg, were on their way to the town, 
and each carried a heavy basket of fruit on 
her head. 

Brigitte murmured and sighed constantly; 
Wallburg only laughed and joked. 

Brigitte said, “ What makes you laugh 
so ? Your basket is quite as heavy as mine, 
and you are no stronger than 1 am.” 

Wallburg answered, “ I have a precious 
little herb in 'my load, which makes me 
hardly feel it at all. Put some of it on your 
load as well.” 

“Oh,” cried Brigitte, “it must indeed be 
a precious little herb. I should like to 
lighten my load with it. So tell me at once 
what it is called.” 

Wallburg replied, “The precious little 
herb that makes all burdens so light is called 
‘ patience.’ ” 


WORTH THINKING OF. 

Parents who do not see their family circle 
supplied with at least one good miscella¬ 
neous paper, leave a very important duty un¬ 
fulfilled. Such a medium of instruction has 
many advantages over books; first, because 
no books of equal capacity in quantity can 
be offered so cheaply as a newspaper; and 
secondly, none are so interesting, because 
the newspaper consists of a variety measured 
out in proper quantities as to time and 
quality. Being new every week it invites 
to a habit of reading, and affords an agree¬ 
able and easy mode of acquiring knowledge, 
causing many hours to pass away profitably 
and pleasantly which would otherwise be 
spent in idleness and mischief. It is easy to 
decide whether a family is in the habit of 
reading a good paper or not by a few mo¬ 
ments’ conversation with its younger mem¬ 
bers. These simple facts are worth remem¬ 
bering. 


NOTHING LOST BUT A HEART. 

Drifting away from each other; 

Silently drifting apart; 

Nothing between but the world’s cold screen ; 
Nothing to lose but a heart. 

Oidy two lives dividing 
More and more every day; 

Only one soul from another soul 
Silently slipping away. 

Only a man’s heart striving 
Bitterly hard with its doom ; 

Only a hand, tender and bland, 

Slipping away in the gloom. 

Nothing of doubt or wrong; 

Nothing that either can cure; 

Nothing to shame, nothing to blame, 
Nothing to do but endure. 

The world cannot stand still ; 

Tides ebb, and women change. 

Nothing here that is worth a tear ; 

One love less—nothing strange. 

Drifting away from each other ; 

Steadily drifting apart; 

No wrong to each that the world can reach, 
Nothing lost but a heart. 


A Boston man who went to Quebec and 
started a small grocery lias astonished the 
Canadians with the following advertisement 
of his tea, coffee, etc.: “The peculiar deli¬ 
cacies of the far-off Ind, and the finely- 
flavored and humanizing leaf of the still 
further Cathay; the more exciting though 
not less delicious berry of Brazil, and the 
spices, sugars, and luscious fruits of the 
Antilles; the sugared condiments and the 
blood-enriching wines of the Mediterranean, 
and the salt-cured and brain-renewing fish 
of our own stormy gulf.” 

Soon after the Copernican system of 
astronomy began to be generally under¬ 
stood, an old farmer went to bis parson with 
the following inquiry: “Dr. T., do you be¬ 
lieve in the new story they tell about the 
earth moving around the sun ?” “ Yes, cer¬ 

tainly.” “Do you think it is according to 
the Scriptures? If it’s true, bow could 
Joshua command the sun to stand still?” 
“Umph!” quoth the parson, “ Joshua com¬ 
manded the sun to stand still, did he?” 
“Yes.” “Well, it stood still, did it not?” 
“Yes.” “Very well. Did you ever hear 
that he set it a-going again ?” 

The new secretary of the navy inquired 
which was the right bower anchor, and 
which deck was the euchre deck, and the 
sailors called him a trump. 














ii n 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


DON’T HURRY TOO FAST TO BE RICH. 

Your road through life may bo thorny, 

Your bed not of roses or down— 
Remember what Shakespeare has written 
Of those on whose head lies a crown. 

It is hard to toil late and toil early— 

To delve or to wearily stitch—- 
Do your best to improve your condition, 

But—don’t hurry too fast to be rich 1 

We find in the Good Book this sentence— 
As long as the world ’twill endure— 

“ He who to be rich,” it says, “ hasteneth, 
Becometh the suddenly poor”— 

Just turn to the passage and read it 

When for lucre your fingers shall itch— 
And of the camel and eye of the needle, 

And don’t hurry too fast to be rich ! 

There are those in a palace residing— 

Yes, many, I’d venture to say— 

Who’d rejoice and be glad to change places 
With you, my dear fellow, to-da} r ! 

Ah ! little we know of the troubles. 

The cares, and anxieties, which 
Attend like a shadow these people— 

So don’t hurry too fast to be rich ! 

How exalted and noble the wages 
That always reward honest toil. 

Be they earned ’neath the fierce sun of 
noonday, 

Or by those who consume midnight oil! 
There lies between Wealth and Contentment 
Ofttimes an impassable ditch ; 

Don’t fall in it, brother; be careful! 

Don’t hurry too fast to be rich ! 


WISDOM. 

“ Think truly, and thy thought 
Shall be a fruitful seed.” 

Buyers want a hundred eyes, sellers none. 

Better one word in time than two after¬ 
wards. 

Nothing is ever done beautifully which is 
done in rivalship, nor nobly which is done 
in pride.—B uskin. 

Hope is like the sun, which, as we journey 
towards it, casts the shadow of our burden 
behind us.— Samuel Smiles. 

If it is a small sacrifice to discontinue the 
use of wine, do it for the sake of others; if 
it is a great sacrifice, do it for your own sake. 
’Tis not the wide phylactery, 

Nor stubborn fast, or stated prayers, 
That makes us saints; we judge the tree 
By what it bears.— Whittier. 

Our greatness will appear 
Then most conspicuous when great things 
of small, 

Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse 
We can create; and, in what place soe’er, 
Thrive under evil, and work case out of pain 
Through labor and endurance.— Milton. 


ANNIE'S HOUSEKEEPING. 

11Y M. L. 

i. 

Aunt Sarah Meredith rocked herself to 
and fro, as she lamented the “ strong-hcad- 
edness” of the girls of the day. 

“To think of a girl that might be a lady, 
and teach the ‘distric’ skulc,’ a-goin out to 
service!” she moaned, while her eyes inces¬ 
santly sought the trim, lithe figure surveying 
herself in the glass across the room. 

“Now, aunty, aunty, don’t take on so. I 
know it’s going to be for the best, for 1 
dreamed of a little white bird last night, and 
that is lucky, you know. And besides, 
aunty, I always get that horrible cough 
when I’m teaching school; but housework, 
that’s just the thing, for a year anyway. I’ll 
get strong and fat, and will soon weigh a 
hundred and fifty pounds.” And tossing 
back the wavy masses of dark hair from her 
white forehead, Annie Meredith made a 
! comical face at herself in the glass, and, 
bursting into a fit of laughter, ran over to 
her aunt Sarah, and kissing her fondly on 
the mouth, skipped out of the room. 

“Foolish young thing! only seventeen; 
and I love her so much ! But she’s steady, 

| that’s one thing,” sighed Aunt Sarah, bury- 
I ing her face in her apron, and endeavoring 
I to soothe her grief as some people do their 
babies,—by vigorous rocking. 

And so it happened that Annie Meredith 
undertook housekeeping. 

II. 

A WEEK LATER. 

“Where in thunder is my cigar-case? 
Where are the papers I left on this floor?” 
A pull at the bell. “ By Jove, I’ll raise Bed¬ 
lam around here if that little woman thinks 
she can pull my private sanctum all to 
pieces! Women and their old dust-rags are 
a nuisance, anyhow —(sotto voce )—the rags. 
I mean, for the room looks like another, it’s 
so clean. Mrs. Rich ! dear me, she’s actually 
here. Oh, Mrs. Rich, see here, please !” to a 
slight figure in the hall, carefully removing 
some imaginary dust from a favorite bust 
of Dickens. 

“Sir?” And the slight, graceful figure, 
in its short black gown and large white 
apron, a black lace cap, into which were 
thrust the curling locks that otherwise would 
have betrayed her age, the soft, clear, blue 
eyes hidden by a pair of blue glasses, and a 
white kerchief pinned neatly around her 
neck, dropped a bow, and repeated the in¬ 
quiry, “Did you call, sir?” 

Allen Potter was the veriest bachelor that 
evei lived, yet he blushed and stammered 
enough for any country school-boy every 
| time he spoke to his new housekeeper. The 
small, white, shapely hands could not be 
concealed; and Allen had already thought 


them bewitchingly pretty, and wondered 
whether they were not quite out of place 
belonging, as they evidently did, to such a 

queer little old woman. “Yes—that is_ 

yes—if you please, Mrs. Rich, would you 
find my cigar-case for me?” in the kindest 
and most gentlemanly tone; “and those 
papers left on the table or floor?” 

“They are here, sir,” she answered, tim¬ 
idly. 

“ Thank you; you’ve improved my study 
very much,” looking around complacently. 
“Ah ! by tbe way, Mrs. Rich,” who had al¬ 
ready vanished into the hall; “I am going 
out of town; will be gone a week or so, so 
that } r ou can have a little holiday; that is, 
I don’t mean you to go home, but you can 
do just about as you please, you know. 
John and his wife will attend to their work 
as usual; but what I intended to say is, that 
there will be no meals to prepare for me.” 

Tbe housekeeper said, “ Very well, sir,” 
and retired. 

Allen Potter took two strides towards the 
open door; his first impulse was to slam it 
after her, but he thought better of it. 

“Confound me! what is the matter with 
me? Only I do wish that woman had big 
hands and feet, and a voice like John’s wife, 
instead of being such a—well, never mind 
what; she’s a neat little housekeeper, any¬ 
way ; no dust around nowadays; but it’s 
time I was off.” 

III. 

Half an hour had scarcely elapsed since 
Allen Potter rode away from “ Eastley Place” 
before .John’s wife, literally bathed in tears, 
came in search of Mrs. Rich. 

“ Her step-daughter’s youngest all but 
one, mum, both on ’em boys, mum, had fal¬ 
len into the mill-stream, and she was a-near 
‘racked’ with trouble, and might she go 
down and comfort her?” 

The master being absent, Mrs. Rich said 
she could get along very well for a while, 
and the woman was allowed to go; and 
Annie Meredith could now remove the odious 
black cap and blue spectacles. Donning a 
pretty dress and ribbons that just matched 
the color of her eyes, Annie secured all 
the doors, and hastening into the music- 
room, thought she would allow herself 
the happiness of testing the elegant instru¬ 
ment that seemingly nobody cared for, since 
it was never opened but when she did so 
for the purpose of dusting it. 

An hour—two—glided by, yet Annie sung 
on, oblivious of everything save that she was 
still herself, and not the demure little house¬ 
keeper of “ Eastley Place.” 

Bang! bang! bang! ding-a-ling-ding! 

“ Oh, save me! What shall I do?” she 
cried, running from the music-room out into 
the hall and back again. 

Bang! bang! It seemed as though a 



























































































» 



















































































117 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


whole army was endeavoring to force an 
entrance. 

“What shall I do? what shall 1 do?” she 
muttered, running around, and putting her 
little hands up to her face. “Visitors? ft 
can’t he; they never would act in such a 
way ! W ell, I shall have to face the music 
and go down. If John’s wife were only 
here! Oh, dear, I shall lose my place now! 
Oh, for that old cap and blue spectacles! 
but then this dress !” 

Bang! bang! bang! ding-a-ling-ding! 

Throwing the door open, Annie saw at a 
glance who the “ visitor” was. Allen Potter 
had returned, and was seemingly in a hurry. 
Bowing to the stranger, he was about to 
walk on, but turned. “ Good-morning, 
Miss,” said he, “ will you be so kind as to 
call—” Just then his eyes fell on the little 
clasped hands, and stepping forward he 
laid his right hand on one shoulder and 
placing the other under her chin, raised the 
pretty face to his, and looked searchingly 
into the tearful eyes. 

“Oh, do not be angry with me!—do not 
discharge me, Mr. Potter, please! I could 
not do a common servant’s work—and I 
could not get a housekeeper’s situation, be¬ 
cause I was—young,” pleaded the low gentle 
voice,— -that excellent thing in woman, —just 
such a voice as one might expect from the 
fair sweet face and curling hair. “ Please 
let me get my cap, and forget all about it.” 

“ Don’t you want the spectacles, too?” with 
a quizzical smile, “and the big white apron 
and that old duster to twist those little 
fingers into, eh ? No ! no ! never mind them i 
just now. Come, come over here, little one; 
come and tell me your real name, and let 
me forget old Mrs. Rich.” And not know- 
ing what else to do, Annie Meredith sat 
down on a rustic bench beneath a large lin¬ 
den-tree and told her employer what he 
knew to be a true story. 

“Dr. Meredith! Richard Meredith! your 
father!—T knew him well in my younger 
days, and knew also that he died leaving- 
one child, who was sent away to live with 
an aunt, and whom I am going to return to 
her aunt before to-morrow,” he said, look¬ 
ing very seriously at her. 

“ Oh ! Mr. Potter, I beg of you, allow me 
to go away by myself! Indeed, indeed! I 
shall never practise such deception again! 
Only you told me you were going away for 
a week—and that I might have a holiday, 
and—and—I was so glad to—” 

“To get rid of me. Well, I am not going 
to get rid of you, not in the way you 
think, at least. How mighty glad I am T 
missed that train. Don’t cry, now I am 
only going to take you to see Aunt Sarah 
for a few days, and then I want you to re¬ 
turn to Eastley Place,—not as its house¬ 
keeper, only, but as my wife, pretty little 
ogress. Now, what do you say to that ? 


r l he soft blue eyes looked wonderingly into 
the man’s face for a moment or so, then the 
little white hands were stretched out towards 
him—and the answer was given. 

John’s wife came trudging along in a few 
moments with the happy announcement 
that the “ babby,—the smallest hut one, mas¬ 
ter,—was saved,” and as she nodded to An¬ 
nie, not a suspicion crossed her mind that 
she was bowing to Mrs. Rich. 

Mrs. Allen Potter occasionally dusts her 
husband’s study yet. There has been a new 
piece of furniture added to the room since 
their marriage; a pretty inlaid stand, sur¬ 
mounted with a little glass shade, under 
which repose a little black net cap and a 
pair of blue spectacles,—mysteries to visit¬ 
ors, but the most precious articles in the 
room to Annie—for, did they not bring her 
a lifetime’s happiness? 


DARLING KEEPS A HOTEL 

Alfred B. Darling began his hotel life 
in the Broomfield House, Boston, kept by 
Selden Crockett. He was a hall-boy at 
twelve dollars a month. Crockett took a 
great interest in the capable and ambitious 
lad. Crockett said to him, “Alfred, if you 
will get up early I’ll take you to market and 
show you how to buy.” He outran his 
! teacher, and the market men said, “You 
had better stay at home, Crockett; the boy 
can buy better than you can.” Stevens 
wanted an assistant, and Crockett recom¬ 
mended Darling. He spent a summer at 
Newport. lie became a clerk at the Girard 
House, Philadelphia, and everywhere showed 
great capacity for hotel life. In 1858, Stevens 
sent Darling to Mobile to take charge of the 
Mobile House. The salary was thirty-five 
hundred dollars a year, and a small interest 
in the business. The house was filled with 
planters and their families, who demanded 
sumptuous fare and expensive wines. The 
business was a great success. Every night 
Daiding telegraphed to Stevens the profit 
and loss of the day. Darling saw the storm- I 
cloud at the South, sold everything, and 
started for the North. His golden cargo 
entered the Narrows as the hurricane hurst 
over the land. There was room for him at 
the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He soon became a 
proprietor, and the firm divided in one year, 
as profits, four hundred and forty thousand 
dollars. 


Politeness is like an air-cushion; there 
may be nothing solid in it, but it eases the 
jolts of the world wonderfully. 

In the voyage of life wo should imitate 
the ancient mariners, who, without losing 
si°ht of the earth, trusted to the heavenly 

i O 

signs for their guidance. 


THE BABY’S KISS. 

AN INCIDENT OF THE CIVIL WAR. 

Rough and ready the troopers ride, 

Pistol in holster and sword by side; 

They have ridden long, they have ridden 
hard, 

They are travel-stained and battle-scarred : 
The hard ground shakes with their martial 
tramp, 

And coai'se is the laugh of the men of the 
camp. 

They reach a spot where a mother stands 
With a baby, shaking its little hands. 
Laughing aloud at the gallant sight 
Of the mounted soldiers fresh from the fight. 
The captain laughs out .—“ I will give you 
this, 

A bright piece of gold, your baby to kiss.” 

“ My darling’s kisses cannot be sold. 

But gladly he’ll kiss a soldier bold.” 

He lifts up the babe with a manly grace, 
And covers with kisses its smiling face, 

Its rosy cheeks, and its dimpled charms; 
And it crows with delight in the soldier’s 
arms. 

“ Not all for the captain,” the troopers call; 
“ The baby, we know, has a kiss for all.” 

To each soldier’s breast the baby is pressed 
By the strong rough men, and kissed and 
caressed; 

And louder it laughs, and the lady’s face 
Wears a mother’s smile at the fond embrace. 

“Just such a kiss,” cries one warrior grim, 

“ When I left my boy, I gave to him.” 

“And just such a kiss, on the parting day, 

I gave to my girl as asleep she lay.” 

Such Avere the Avords of these soldiers brave, 
And their eyes were moist when the kiss 
they gaA r e. 

G. R. Emerson. 


Never appear to notice a scar, deformity, 
or defect of any one present. 

Never pick the teeth or clean the nails in 
company. 

What ought not to be done, do not think 
of doing. 

Never fail to give a polite answer to a 
civil question. 

Never question a servant or a child about 
family matters. 

Death has nothing terrible in it but Avhat 
life has made so. 

Never refer to a gift you have made or a 
favor you have rendered. 

Return equity and justice for evil done to 
you, and pay goodness by goodness. 

Be temperate. Liquor has made more 
paupers than all other vices combined. 






118 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


THE GOLDEN SIDE. 

There is many a rest on the road of life, 

If we would only stop to take it; 

And many a tone from the better land. 

If the querulous heart would wake it. 

To the sunny soul that is full of hope. 

And whose beautiful trust ne’er faileth, 
The grass is green and the flowers are bright, 
Though the wintry storm prevaileth. 

Better to hope, though the clouds hang low, 
And keep the eyes still lifted, 

For the sweet blue sky will soon peep 
through, 

When the ominous clouds are rifted. 
There was never a night without a day. 

Or an evening without a morning, 

And the darkest hour, so the proverb goes, 
Is the hour before the dawning. 

There is many a gem in the path of life, 
Which we pass in our idle pleasure, 

That is richer far than the jewelled crown, 
Or the miser’s hoarded treasure. 

It may be the love of a little child, 

Or a mother’s prayer to heaven, 

Or only a beggar’s grateful thanks 
For a cup of water given. 

Better to weave in the web of life 
A bright and golden filling, 

And do God’s will with a ready heart 
And hands that are swift and willing, 
Than to snap the delicate, slender threads 
Of our curious lives asunder, 

And then blame heaven for the tangled ends, 
And sit, and grieve, and wonder! 


GOING TO LAW. 

Two Dutchmen, who had built and used 
in common a small bridge over a stream 
which ran through their farms, had a dis¬ 
pute concerning some repairs which it re¬ 
quired, and one of them positively refused 
to bear any portion of the expense necessary 
to the purchase of a few planks. Finally, 
the aggrieved party went to a neighboring 
lawyer, and placing ten dollars in his hand, 
said,—■ 

“ I’ll give you all dish moneys if you’ll 
make Hans do justice mit de pridge.” 

“How much will it cost to repair it?” 
asked the honest lawyer. 

“Not more as five dollar,” replied the 
Dutchman. 

“Very well,” said the lawyer, pocketing 
one of the notes and giving him the other, 
“take this, and go and get the bridge re¬ 
paired ; ’tis the best course you can take.” 

“ Yas,” said the Dutchman, slowly ; “ yaas, 
dat is more hotter as to quarrel mit Hans;” 
but as he went along home he shook his 
head frequently, as if unable, after all, to see 
quite clearly how he had gained anything 
by going to law. 


THE TRUE HISTORY OF A CODFISH. 

(A THANKSGIVING STORY.) 

BY MELBOURNE LEDYARD, 

AUTHOR OF “PASQUIER.” 

Codfish will seem a rather dry subject 
for a story at any time, but especially so at 
this festive season of the year, when every 
larder throughout the land is redolent with 
the savory odors of pumpkin pie and lus¬ 
cious pippins red, and the fat, sleek, but 
innocent turkey seals his own doom as he 
unconsciously picks up his last scanty ra¬ 
tions amid the skeleton forms of the apple-: 
trees in the now deserted orchard that vocif¬ 
erously re-echo Ids “gobblc-me, gobble-me!” 

Now, if my readers will only grant me a 
little attention in the beginning of this nar¬ 
rative, I trust the sequel of the tale will 
amply repay them for the aridity of the 
title. 

I do not claim facts for every word of it, 
but certainly that saucy boy Cupid, who 
occasionally gets as much fun out of the silly 
love-antics of the gray-bearded old bachelor 
as he ever did from the wildest rhapsodies of 
a golden-haired Adonis,was more than on mis¬ 
chief intent when, armed with his quivers, 
he silently and unobtrusively stole into the 

picturesque little village of B-, a whilom 

fishing hamlet on the coast of M-. 

One Thanksgiving morning, a great many 
years previous to the events I now relate, 
this pretty, sleeping town was suddenly 
awakened from its long dream of peace by 
the unexpected appearance in its midst of a 
wealthy young Englishman, accompanied 
by a small army of laborers, who began at 
once to erect a building, which seemed to 
the oldest inhabitants, from their modest 
views of life, must be intended as a second 
edition of the famous Tower of Babel. 

But ere two years elapsed, this gentleman 
as suddenly disappeared, and was heard of 
no more, though the structure was finally 
completed, and became known far and wide 
as “Weston’s Folly.” 

No one in the town knew who really 
owned it, but the present lessor, one Oliver 
Wendix, Esq. (who, in years gone by, had 
been a fisherman), was reported to have 
shown to a couple of intimates papers that 
he declared gave him undivided right and 
title to the whole estate, and as the owner 
he stood when a genteel, pretty young 
widow, accompanied by a servant and two 
lovely children, bought the place, under a 
mortgage, and at once took possession of it. 

The little family were comfortably pros¬ 
perous for a long time, until, upon the death 
of her son, which occurred in his twenty- 
first year, the mother seemed not only over¬ 
whelmed with grief, but also to have lost 
her sole support, as the remittances from a 
large estate in England, to which he was 
reported lawful heir, not only dwindled 


down to a few paltry dollars, but came at 
last at very long intervals, and after many 
anxious hours and days of expectation, that 
in a comparatively short time silvered the 
widow’s once dark locks and dimmed the 
lustre of her brilliant eyes. 

“ As pretty a’most as Kathleen Everley,” 
had been the highest standard for beauty in 

B - ever since the first Sunday morning 

when my heroine and her brother Edgar, 
accompanied by their young mother, occu¬ 
pied the pastor’s pew, a sort of half-moon, 
narrow seat in the village “ meetin’-house.” 
Then she was indeed pretty, with the wax¬ 
like beauty of a lily that grows in the shade ; 
her voice was gentle; the light step timid ; 
her brown eyes beseeching; the dainty fin¬ 
gers tremulous. 

But on this the morning of her eighteenth 
birthday, she was a lovely woman. The 
same soft, creamy skin; hair a soft brown, 
with that tinge of gold rippling through it that 
made you wonder whether it was chestnut 
or dark; eyes a deeper, softer brown,—large, 
melting, tender eyes, that, once seen, could 
never be forgotten. But all the timidity of 
her childhood had vanished, and in manner 
and bearing Kathleen Everley w r as not only 
gracefully self-possessed, but charmingly in¬ 
dependent, even brave,—as good and true¬ 
hearted as she was handsome; a favorite 
everywhere; admirers she had many, ene¬ 
mies none! 

From the family’s first appearance in 

B-, Kathleen had been a special object 

of admiration with Oliver Wendix, whose 
homage, child-like, she accepted playfully, 
yet reservedly; but, as years wore on, it 
gradually became apparent to Mrs. Everley 
that Oliver Wendix, whom she now more 
than loathed, in spite of all his would-be 
winning manners, was determined to pos¬ 
sess himself of her only treasure, her beau¬ 
tiful Kathleen ; and to all proposals respect¬ 
ing her the mother at first listened with 
quiet indifference, then silent, and finally, 
angry contempt. 

Enraged almost to madness at the pros¬ 
pect of failure in the great game of his life, 
he determined to take advantage of their 
reduced circumstances; and, under pretence 
of applying the rent of the house on the 
mortgage, installed himself, a maiden sister, 
and one colored servant in the best rooms 
of Mrs. Everley’s once comfortable mansion, 
still kindly offering her the shelter of the 
west wing. 

Believing themselves his debtors, Mrs. 
Everley and her daughter, after due delib¬ 
eration and with great reluctance, at last 
consented. “ The only way left me to crush 
the pride out of the old one, and break the 
young filly to harness without losing sight 
of her,” he explained to his intimates before 
mentioned. 

Residing under the same roof, but as utter 














PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


110 


strangers to each other as though they occu¬ 
pied different hemispheres, the two families 
lived for three years, when an event, trifling 
enough in itself, brought matters to a crisis. 

(IIow often in life, by too close a pursuit 
of the cherished desires of our own hearts, 
do we only succeed in placing fresh obsta¬ 
cles in the pathway of their attainment!) 

A lovely autumnal morning greeted Kath¬ 
leen on her eighteenth birthday; a light 
haze hung lazily in the warm air, disappear¬ 
ing in the distant horizon, softening and mel¬ 
lowing the light of the sun, which in turn 
gave to the sky and atmosphere a bright 
orange hue, thus adding richness and beauty 
to that delightful portion of the dying season 
called <£ Indian summer.” 

Ho brighter eyes than Kathleen’s ever re¬ 
flected the rays of love, as she picked up a 
bouquet of snowy-white rose-buds and the 
dainty little envelope that lay on her plate 
at breakfast that morning ; then hurriedly 
scanning its contents, she pressed it tenderly, 
almost reverently, to her lips, and before se¬ 
creting it amid the folds of her pretty mus¬ 
lin neckerchief, she selected one bud from 
among the many lovely flowers it contained 
and fastened it securely in her hair before 
leaving the dining-room, little dreaming that 
evil eyes lurked by the open window watch¬ 
ing her. 

As she passed through the large kitchen 
(an apartment used by both families at this 
season of the year), she encountered Ilettie, 
Mr. Wendix’s servant, entering it. 

“ Ilettie,” said Miss Everley, “be kind 
enough to remove that codfish from the 
table I use. I dislike the odor of it very 
much.” 

“ Humph !” replied the wench, with a toss 
of her black bead. “ Massa said I was’n to 
min’ you, and to keep the cod jus whar I 
like, an’ that’s thar!” said'she, flouncing out 
of the room again. 

Justly indignant at such uncalled-for 
treatment, Miss Everley picked up the fish 
and carrying it into another room (used tor 
store purposes), threw it upon the table and 
returned to the kitchen. 

In an instant Oliver Wendix entered the 
apartment, and the “ bone of contention” 
was replaced on the table directly in front 
of her. Without a word, and in the most 
gentle manner possible, she carefully picked 
it up and conveyed it to a room still farther 
away than the first one. 

Stung to fury by her silent contempt, and 
jealous beyond expression at what he had 
witnessed through the dining-room window 
a few moments previously, he immediately 
carried the fish in again, and fastening it to 
the wall with a nail, dared her to touch it, 
remarking, as be strode away, that he had 
once made a great deal of trouble for another 
person upon a good deal less provocation. 
Am quickly as a flash of lightning, Kath¬ 


leen jerked the codfish from off the nail and 
sent it whirling at the retreating form of its 
owner. In his wild endeavors to dodge the 
flying fish bis head came in contact with a 
line stretched across the room, and a brown 
wig rolled swiftly across the floor, disclosing 
to her astonished eyes an entirely bald head. 

Would she have been human, a girl of 
eighteen summers, and not have laughed? 
aye! laughed immoderately? 

Blanched with rage and shame, he uncon¬ 
sciously picked up the codfish in lieu of his 
wig, and beat a hasty retreat, muttering as 
he went that she should pay dearly for her 
sport. 

With another burst of uncontrollable 
laughter, Miss Everley hurried to her 
mother’s parlor, and was giving her a full 
account of the late skirmish, when a well- 
known rap sounded on their front door. 

“Oh, my dear child!” exclaimed her 
mother, nervously, “do not open the door; 
he is a terrible man, and it may be a lawyer 
to serve a paper on you.” 

“ It is a lawyer, mamma darling,” re¬ 
sponded Kathleen, joyously, as she threw 
wide open the door to as handsome a 3 ’oung 
man as ever awoke an answering smile in a 
pretty woman’s face. 

“ Charley, my son ! you’re a Providence 
at this hour!” said poor Mrs. Everley, with 
emotion. 

But Charles Kainor might have been 
called a whole “ Deity” at that moment, and 
never have known it, for Kathleen was lean¬ 
ing on his bosom, and his lips were very 
close to hers, as she lovingly whispered the 
answer he had expected from her on that 
bright birthday morning. 

“ And now, mother dear, what can I do 
for you?” said he, turning to Mrs. Everley, 
as he affectionately pressed her hand to his 
lips. 

With as much .composure as her happy, 
buoyant spirits would allow, Kathleen again 
. related the facts of what Charley, in after- 
years, always called “ the codfish circus.” 

“ I’ll attend to the case when it comes up 
for trial,” he merrily asserted, as he prepared 
to take his departure. 

“Ah! but I am not going to be deprived : 
of my ‘ woman’s rights’ in that way, sir, I 
assure you. I intend to stand the trial my¬ 
self,” she laughingly rejoined, as she bade 
him good-by. 

Mr. Charles Itainor was the only lawyer 
in B-, with the exception of Oliver Wen¬ 

dix (who of late years bad written “ Attorney- 
at-Law” after his name, though no one knew 
by what authority), and consequently that 
gentleman’s successful rival, not only in love 
but also in law; and within half an hour 
after quitting his promised bride’s home he 
was informed that suit would be brought 
against her the next day “ for wilful waste of 
property and the theft of a brown xouj." 


“ Ill news travels apace,” said some old 
wise-acre once, and before the next morning 

the whole town of B-knew that Mr. \Y en- 

dix and Miss Everley were going to have a 
lawsuit “ over a codfish.” But in no place 
was it discussed so much as at the “ Ocean 
Inn House,” one of those old-time hostelries 
so truthfully and beautifully portrayed by 
our own dear poet Longfellow. 

Court-day not being a very common affair 
in those times, the evening of the trial found 

a great many strangers in B-, when the 

ill favor with which the prosecutor was 
held, the beauty and amiability of the de¬ 
fendant, were commented on ad libitum. 

One fine-looking old gentleman in particu¬ 
lar was noticed as being especially curious 
with regard to both parties, and the morning 
of the trial he was the very first one at the 
court-house door. The docket not being a 
very long nor a very important one, was 
soon disposed of, and the “interesting case” 
of the day was called. 

All preliminary proceedings over, and the 
evidence for the prosecution taken, Miss 
Everley was called to the stand and mod¬ 
estly stated the facts as above related. See¬ 
ing himself worsted, the prosecuting attorney 
was about to waive the case when the coun¬ 
sel for the defence arose and seriously re¬ 
marked that he had omitted a very important 
question. 

“ To the best of your knowledge, now, 
Miss Everley,” said Lawyer Rainor, smil- 
ingly, “how much did that fish weigh?” 

“ Before the fray, sir, I should say about 
three pounds, or three and a half,” she an¬ 
swered, with suppressed laughter. 

“There was just four pounds,” shrieked 
Oliver Wendix, “and there wasn’t a scrap 
of it left fit to cat.” 

At this the whole house, court included, 
burst into uproarious peals of laughter. 
Quiet being finally restored, the judge, who 
Was none other than the stranger before 
alluded to, declared “ no cause of action in 
the codfish suit,” upon which all the young 
gamins of the town threw up their caps and 
yelled Instil}'. 

Making a great effort to control his shaky 
voice, Oliver Wendix begged to remind the 
court that the question of the “ wig,” which 
had been missing since the melee, and was 
believed to have been purloined by Miss Ev¬ 
erley, with “ mischievous intent,” should now 
be settled. 

Amid frequent and loud bursts of laughter 
she was desired to give a truthful account 
of the affair, and thus replied, “That when 
Mr. Wendix’s head came in contact with the 
line stretched across the room, she was 
startled out of all self-possession at seeing 
his bald head, and a wig rolling along the 
floor; but not so a very frolicsome Thomas 
cat, the property of the prosecutor, who, 
doubtless thinking be had captured a new 













120 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


species of game, pounced upon the wig and 
made his exit through the window, his mas¬ 
ter having already disappeared around the 
corner with the codfish.” 

Upon this statement the judge declared 
“ court adjourned,” and offering his arm to 
Miss Everley, they were soon joined by Mr. 
Charles Eainor, and the three proceeded in 
the direction of Kathleen’s home. 


THE REUNION. 


But let us hie away to scenes more pleas¬ 
ant. Life is short, and time is fleeting, and 
Thanksgiving morn has smilingly dawned 
on the picturesque and lively little town of 
B-again. 

The light of the rising sun was but just 
over the tips of the highest trees, and the 
golden and red-tinted leaves rolled softly 
along the still green pathways of the pretty 
village when the joyous peals of “wedding 
bells” rang out on the soft autumnal air. 

As Lawyer Eainor and his lovety bride, 
accompanied by her mother and her long- 
lost father, Judge Weston Everley, emerged 
from the church-door, they found almost the 
whole town, in holiday attire, waiting to 
congratulate them. Their home was taken 
possession of by the good people, who literally 
rained down plump, fat turkeys that would 
“gobble! gobble!” no more, in addition to 
all other kinds of Thanksgiving goodies upon 
the now happily reunited family. 

In the possession of so many unexpected 
blessings themselves, Judge Weston (at 
Kathleen’s solicitation) finally consented to 
withdraw the charges of forgery and theft 
against Oliver Wendix, on condition that 
he should leave the town within the next 
twenty-four hours, and never set foot in it 
again. But who in trouble ever escaped 
the watchful eyes of the village “ small boy ?” 
and as Oliver Wendix climbed the hill that 
led to the next town long before sunrise the 
next morning, he was followed from afar by 
a juvenile army of noisy youngsters, who 
kept up the incessant cry of “ Go it, thar, old 
codfish—git up now. Hurrah, boys, for cod¬ 
fish Wendix!” which cognomen he ever 
afterwards retained in the whole country 
side. 

And now, among my readers, who but will 
agree with me that the curly-headed god 
of love (when he quietly stole into the 

slumbering hamlet of B- twenty-five 

years previous to the sequence of this little 
story) did not intend— 


To some bring woe and sadness, 

T o others true joy and gladness : 


and it is to the enjoyment of these latter 
blessings that I now leave my gentle heroine 
and hei reunited family, and beg at the 
same time to bo allowed to wish all my 
friends and readers to-day a very happy 
Thanksgiving! 


[From Our Second Century.] 

THE RECOGNITION OF TRUTH. 

BY J. M. FOWLER. 


The world is full ot false judgment, owing 
to the growing practice ol judging a truth 
by its source, and grading its value by the 
reputation of its author. Abstract truth is 
eternal, and the source does not improve it, 
and lessens not one jot of its importance. 
Prejudice, ignorance, and the indisposition 
to think are fruitful sources of false judg¬ 
ment. Prejudice blinds us, and we turn our 
backs to the light; ignorance renders us in¬ 
capable of judging correctly, and the indis¬ 
position to think creates an indifference that 
makes us accept the opinions of others in¬ 
stead of forming our own. To the poorest 
daub in the art gallery attach a celebrated 
artist’s name, and beauties are seen that do 
not exist; discoveries of tone, feeling, and sen¬ 
timent produce ecstatic expressions of admira¬ 
tion from those who hardly know the defini¬ 
tion of the terms, while without a knowledge 
of the artist, the grandest works of the old 
masters would excite as little interest as the 
drop-curtain in a theatre. While we do, 
and must, accept the judgment and opinions 
of learned men on subjects which they 
have made an especial study, we must re¬ 
member that they are not infallible, and that 
when the truth comes from a less distin¬ 
guished source it is none the less true. Truth 
emanating from men of character and high 
social standing may have more weight, but 
it is absurd to assume that there is nothing- 
good except it come from an unsullied source. 
Baltimore has lately been dissecting the 
character of one of our most popular poets,— 
Edgar A. Poe,—and finding his private life 
to have been an example unworthy of imita¬ 
tion, he is pronounced by many as having 
no genius, although his works hold a place 
in the libraries of the world. We may de¬ 
grade the artist and the poet, but we cannot 
debase either art or poetry. 

There is a class of people who have a 
morbid desire to find some irregularity in 
the character ot men who stand high in the 
estimation of the public, and who feel it a 
kind of glory to be the first to tell of some 


unworthy trait or act,—a disposition to de¬ 
tect flaws in the faintest shadow, and con¬ 
demn the substance that casts it. Was Vol¬ 
taire any the less a wit from the fact of his 
being an infidel ? Did the domestic relations 


. J ivmo t K VVUIlUl 

ful judge of human nature and a powerf 
delineator of character? Or did Byroi 
life make him any the less a poet? “’T 
human to err.” Weakness is a part of o 
nature, and we should cultivate a spirit 
generosity, to enable us to detach virtu 
Jrom vices. We enjoy those fruits none t 
less that grow in the poorest soils, nor < 
we despise the rose because it grows . 


thorns; we value them for what they are ■ 
and we should recognize truth as truth, lot 
it emanate from whatever source it may 
Truth is pre-existent, its discovery alone is 
new, and its nature is not affected by the 
character of the discoverer. Some good can 
be found in the worst men if we but look 
below the surface, and it is unjust and illo«-- 
ical to assume that a man, to possess genius 
must be without a fault. Our weaknesses 
are in the lower part of our natures, which, 
like a stream, may be tainted in the low¬ 
lands while it rises pure and clear at the 
fountain-head. Everything is made to serve 
some purpose. God may send good to the 
world by the hands of the devil, and bad 
men are often His instruments in carrying 
out His designs. 


GOD’S PLANS. 

On, yet we trust that somehow good 
Will be the final goal of ill, 

To pangs of nature, sins of will, 
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; 

That nothing walks with aimless feet; 
That not one life shall be destroyed, 
Or cast as rubbish to the void, 

When God hath made the pile complete. 

That not a worm is clove in vain, 

That not a moth with vain desire 
Is shrivel’d in a fruitless fire, 

Or but subserves another’s gain. 

Behold, we know not anything! 

I can but trust that good shall fall 
At last—far off’—at last to all, 

Anti every winter change to spring. 


ALONE. 

BY AUGUSTA MOORE. 

No home! so in a lodge 
I wait beside the sea, 

More moanings answer mine; 
But do not comfort me. 

No love! What seemed so true, 
So perfect, so divine. 

Was but a moonlit cheat, 

That won, to mock at mine. 

No hope! The night has closed 
Without a moon or star ; 

And desolate I wait 
Beside the harbor bar. 

No home! No love! No hope! 

All on the other shore, 

T wait. Oh, white sail, come. 

To bear my spirit o’er. 








































121 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


BETTER THAN THEM ALL 

A moderate share of wealth is good, 
To cheer us on our way! 

For it has oftentimes the power 
To make December May ; 

And so is beauty, so is health, 

Or genius at our call; 

But a happy, careless, loving heart 
Is better than them all. 

A heart that gathers hope and faith 
From every springing flower; 

That smiles alike at winter’s storm, 
And gentle summer shower; 

That blesses God for every good, 

Or whether great or small; 

Oh, a happy, hopeful, loving heart 
Is better than them all. 

’Tis well to hold the wand of power, 
Or wear an honored name, 

And blush to hear the mighty world 
Re-echo with our fame : 

’Tis well if on our path the smiles 
Of kings and nobles fall; 

But to have a happy, trusting heart 
Is better than them all. 

A heart that with the magic notes 
Of music is beguiled, 

A heart that loves the pleasant face 
Of every little child; 

That aidetli weakness in distress, 
And heai’eth duty’s call; 

Oh, such a loving human heart 
Is better than them all. 


SALE OF MONTPELIER. 

Montpelier, the former residence of Presi¬ 
dent Madison, located in Orange County, 
was sold to Colonel J. L. Carrington, of 
this city, for $20,000. Montpelier is a his¬ 
toric place in Virginia’s history. It is beau¬ 
tifully situated, about four miles from Orange 
Court-House, and about seven from Gor- 
donsville, on the Virginia Midland Railioad, 
eighty miles south of Washington, in the 
section of the State known as Piedmont, a 
portion of the Old Dominion known for the 
fertility of its soil and the picturesqueness 
of its scenery. The mansion was erected by 
President Madison, and much of the work 
supervised by him in person. I he stiuctuio 
is an imposing one, built ot brick, and com¬ 
manding a magnificent view of the Blue 
Ridge Mountains. It is constructed after 
the Doric order, and contains twenty-five 
rooms. The internal arrangement is some¬ 
what peculiar, widely differing from the 
architecture of the present day. I he right 
wing was built in 17G0. In 1816, near the 
close of his official life, Madison enlarged 
the building. It was in this structure that 
Mr. Madison and his accomplished wife cn- 
16 


tertained such prominent men as President 
Van Buron and Monroe, General Lafayette, 
and other distinguished personages, and dis¬ 
pensed that lavish hospitality for which 
Montpelier in his day was noted. The tract 
of land sold with the mansion embraced 
about one thousand and sixty-three acres. 

This property was sold under a deed of 
trust dated August 1, 1857, from the late 
Thomas J. Carson to Philip S. Fry and Lewis 
B. Williams, for the benefit of David Graham, 
deceased. Beautiful trees, planted by Madi¬ 
son, arranged with symmetry and order— 
the whole, combined with nature, make a 
beautiful landscape picture. Since Mrs. Madi¬ 
son’s death, Montpelier has been in various 
hands. In 1851 it became the property of 
Thomas Carson, a prominent Baltimore 
banker, now dead, who left it to his brother 
and sister. His brother Frank remained in 
charge during the war, and until his death, 
a few months since. Being from Ireland, he 
claimed protection from the military laws of 
the Confederacy as a British subject. lie 
was a peculiar man, a bachelor, and to some 
extent a recluse, who drove away friends 
and acquaintances and lived out of the world 
with no companions save books, dogs, and 
servants who robbed him. In this condition 
he died. lie allowed the property to run 
down. The house and grounds are now in a 
dilapidated condition. The remains of Presi¬ 
dent Madison are buried in the family burial 
ground at Montpelier, and are marked by a 
plain granite shaft, erected by the citizens of 
Orange County as a fitting emblem of the 
simplicity of the character of the Virginia 
statesman. 


[From the Religious Souvenir for 1S36.] 

INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

We know of no place under the broad 
heavens—we know no circumstances in 
which the influence of women may not 
enter, cither to be an evil or good ; a bles¬ 
sing or a curse; a joy or a sorrow. She 
shares the thrones of monarchs, and of 
course their influence; and in many in¬ 
stances, woman herself has swayed the scep¬ 
tre of a kingdom. In such case, the happiness 
or misery of millions hang on her fiat. For¬ 
tune and fame, prison and the scaffold, alike 
maintain her bidding. Christianity, with all 
its blessings, follows in her steps; and peace, 
religion, and prosperity adorn her reign, and 
make glad the nation; no vice, licentious¬ 
ness, and cruelty disfigure her empire, and 
insure the misery of her subjects. We 
might cite many examples of women who 
have held conspicuous places upon earth, 

| and made or marred the fortunes of nations, 
as well as individuals: but it is for the most 
a melancholy list, and we can only say, 
when influence is so extended and so per¬ 


verted, “Oh, my soul, enter thou not into 
their secrets! Unto their assembly, mine 
honor, be not thou united !” 

Instances are not wanting, too, and they 
are noble ones, where the influence of wo¬ 
man has been extensive, powerful, and salu¬ 
tary, through the medium of her own pen. 
We have only to mention the names of More, 
Taylor, Sherwood, Kennedy, and others, to 
feel that they have given dignity and honor 
to their sex, increased the moral loveliness 
of virtue, strengthened the power of princi¬ 
ple, set forth religion in its most attractive 
garb, and, it may be, have been the means 
of winning many souls to Jesus. We love 
to rest upon such characters, we love to 
think that a wish to be useful has caused 
their extended efforts, and to imagine the 
rich harvest of good that may attend their 
labors. And while paying a just meed to 
excellence, the self-denying, benevolent, 
saintly Mrs. Fry should never be forgotten. 
Not content with visiting the poor and sor¬ 
rowing in their own humble dwellings, she 
enters the prison doors, goes fearlessly 
among the criminals and the profligate, 
like an angel of light in the dark regions 
of despair and guilt, and proffers to the 
wretched convicts, pardon and salvation in 
the name of Jesus. 

But it is needless to multiply examples. 
Every day’s experience and observation may 
convince us of the influence of women, in 
the relations of mother, wife, sister, daugh¬ 
ter, friend,—in fortune, fame, fashion, re¬ 
ligion, and happiness. She was given to 
man as his better angel, to dissuade him 
from vice, to stimulate him to virtue, and to 
make home delightful, and life joyous; and 
when in the exercise of these gentle and 
holy charities, she fulfils her high vocation. 
We have known her meekness, her tender¬ 
ness, her patience, and her Christian firm¬ 
ness to be triumphant, under God, in subdu- 
imr vice and awakening virtue when all 
other means seemed powerless. We have 
seen the drunkard melt into tears of con¬ 
trition and sorrow at the mild and affection¬ 
ate appeals of an uncomplaining and heart- 
stricken wife. We have seen the passionate 
man subdued to the docility of a child by 
the soft and appeasing answers of an amiable 
daughter. AYe have seen the unblushing 
libertine bend with remorse before the pure 
and dignified and lovely of the earth, who, 
instead of encouraging his vices with smiles 
of approbation and blandishment, turned 
from him with virtuous and maidenly re¬ 
serve. 

Yico is to be discountenanced in all its 
forms. Young ladies do not act as if they 
were aware of the influence they exert over 
the other sex. The gamester, the profane, 
and the licentious enter with impunity the 
society of the refined and elegant, and re¬ 
ceive as warm a welcome, aye, and it is to 





















122 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


bo feared, a much warmer, often, than the 
pure, the pious, and excellent. This ought 
not to be so. Leaving religion out of the 
question, delicacy, propriety, and dignity 
forbid it. She whose heart is warm with 
benevolence and sensibility should never 
smile on the gamester, who, in his cold and 
utter selfishness, would not scruple to im¬ 
poverish his friend; the maiden of softness 
and refinement should never hear the name 
which she must fear, even if she does not 
love, mingled with blasphemy in the coarse 
oaths and ribald jests of the profane and 
intemperate ; youthful purity and loveliness 
should turn with abhorrence and disgust 
from the man who would prey upon inno¬ 
cence, or debase himself in the haunts of 
pollution. 

If young ladies would enter into a mutual 
compact to discourage these vices, if they 
would resolve to hold no companionship 
with those who practise them, the aspect 
of society would very soon be changed, and 
the world see better fathers and better sons, 
better brothers and better husbands. This 
is not a dream of the imagination. Man, 
although he is lord of this lower world, can¬ 
not exist in comfort without the softening, 
sweetening, subduing influence of gentle 
woman. She administers to his convenience, 
soothes his sorrows, assuages his resentment; 
bjr her tender care alleviates his sickness, 
shares his fortune in life, and seems like a 
ministering angel on the bed of death. 

Is it possible that he should not prize her; 
that he should not seek her society; that, 
after the fatigues and vexatious pursuits, or 
the weariness of study, her winning ways, 
cheerful smiles, and balmy voice should fall 
upon his vexed and burning spirit like the 
soft dews of heaven upon the drooping 
plant? Man must love woman,—necessity 
is laid upon him. She must affect his for¬ 
tune, his judgment, and his principles. If 
then she lend all her energies to the cause 
of truth, purity, and goodness, she will soon 
rejoice in the conviction that her influence 
is as blessed as it is extensive. If she has 
brothers, they but furnish new channels 
through which her pure principles may flow 
in countless others, encouraging theirvirtues, 
confirming the doubtful, and reclaiming the 
vicious. Thus she may become a public 
benefactress, although unknown, and the 
temporal arid eternal happiness of multitudes 
be the offspring of her active and unobtru¬ 
sive instrumentality. Rut the sweet luxury 
of doing good shall be her guardian in this 
world, and thought cannot picture the 
blessed reward which God has prepared for 
her in the world to come. 

Never make a promise when the power of 
performing that promise shall depend on 
another. 


OUR HOME. 

Our home! Oh ! how that word can cheer 
Our wand’ring, lonely way, 

Recall the scenes so lov’d and dear, 

The friendships of our vernal year, 

The morning of our day; 

The hopes that brightly did appear— 

Of bright, but transient ray. 

Our home ! it brings our childhood’s hours, 
The thoughts so “fancy free,” 

The joys that bloom’d like summer flowers 
Amid the sweet sequestered bowers 
Of love and poesy— 

The tears, that like Spring’s earliest showers, 
Gave rainbow hopes of glee ! 

Our home! there lives in memory 
The one we loved so well, 

Our meetings ’neath the evening sky, 

The eloquently breathing sigh, 

The weeping, sad farewell; 

The vows wo pledged when none were nigh, 
The thoughts unspeakable. 

Our home! ah ! where are those that shed 
A halo round the spot ? 

Some are far hence o’er ocean’s bed, 

Some numbered with the early dead 
Now shai'e the common lot; 

For us, howe’er fate’s shaft be sped, 

They cannot be forgot! 

Our home ! until life’s closing day 
That word our hearts shall cheer, 

When brightest feelings shall decay, 
Withering like autumn flowers away, 

That still shall linger here, 

And with hope’s pure enlivening ray 
Shall dry the parting tear. 


INFLUENCE OF A WIFE. 

“ Wiiy do you keep me for so long a 
time at the door?” said Edward F., passion¬ 
ately, to his wife. The night had passed, 
but its cold wind had entered the house, 
as Mrs. F. with sorrowful heart undid the 
lock. 

“It is late, Edward, and I could not keep 
from slumbering.” 

lie said nothing in return to this, but 
flung himself into a chair and gazed intently 
on the fire. His son climbed upon his knee, 
and putting his arm round his father’s neck, 
whispered, “ Papa, what has mamma been 
crying for?” Mr. F. started and shook 
off his boy, and said, with violence, “Get to 
bed, sir; what business has your mother to 
let you be up at this late hour?” The poor 
child’s lower lip pouted, but he was at the 
time too much frightened to cry. His sister 
silently took him up, and when he reached 
his bed his heart discharged itself in noisy 
grief. The mother heard his crying, and 


went to him—but she soon returned to the 
parlor. She leaned upon her husband, and 
thus addressed him: 

“Edward, I will not upbraid you on ac¬ 
count of your harshness to me, but I implore 
you not to act in this manner before your 
children. You are not, Edward, what you 
used to be ! Those heavy eyes tell of wretch¬ 
edness, as well as bad hours. You wrong 
me, you wrong yourself, thus to let my hand 
show I am your wife, but at the same time 
let your heart know singleness in matters 
of moment. I am aware of the kind of so¬ 
ciety in which you have lately^' indulged. 
Tell me, Edward, for heaven’s sake tell me! 
we are ruined ; is it not so?” 

Edward had not a word to say to his 
wife; but a man’s tears are more awful than 
his words. 

“Well, be it so, Edward!—our children 
may suffer from our fall, but it will redouble 
my exertions for them. And as for myself, 
you do not know me if you think that cir¬ 
cumstances can lessen my feelings for them. 
A woman’s love is like the plant which 
shows its strength the more it is trodden 
on. Arouse yourself, my husband ; it is true 
your father has cast you off, and you are 
indebted to him in a serious sum; but he is 
not all the world—only consider your wife 
in that light.” 

A slight tap was now heard at the door, 
and Mi’s. F. went to ascertain the cause. 
She returned to her husband. “Mary is at 
the door; she says 3-011 alwa 3'8 kissed her 
before she went to bed.” 

“Mjr child, my child,” said the father, 
“God bless you,—I am not very well, Mary. 
Nay, do not speak to me to-night. Go to 
rest now; give me one of 3 ’our pretty smiles 
in the morning, and your father will be 
happy again.” 

Mr. F. was persuaded by his affectionate 
partner to retire; but sleep and rest were 
not for him,—his wife and children had once 
given him happy dreams; but now the ruin 
he had brought upon them was an awaken¬ 
ing realitju A hen the light of the morning 
faintly appeared above the line of the oppo¬ 
site houses, Mr. F. arose. 

“Where are you going, Edward?” said 
his watchful wife. 

“ I have been considering,” he replied, 
calmty, “ and I am determined to try my 
father. He loved me when I was a boj-; he 
was proud of me. It is true I have acted 
dishonorably b} T him, and should, no doubt, 
luue ruined him. Yesterday I spoke 
harshly oi him, but I did not then know 
m 3 self. Your deep affection, my dear wife, 
has complete^ altered me. I will make up 
for it I will, indeed I will. Na 3 T , don’t 
grieve me in this way,—this is worse to me 
than all. I will be back soon.” 

1 lie children appeared in the breakfast- 
room. Mary was ready with her smile, and 












PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


123 


the boy was anxious for the notico of his 
father. In a short time Mr. F. returned. 

“We must sink, my love! he will not as¬ 
sist me. lie upbraided me; I did not, I 
could not, answer him a word, lie spoke 
kindly of you and our little ones, but he cast 
us off forever!” 

The distressed man had scarcely said this, 
when a person rudely came in. In the name 
of F. s father he took possession of the prop¬ 
erty, and had the power to make F. a pris¬ 
oner. 

u You shall not take papa away,” said the 
little son, at the same time kicking at the 
officer. 

“Mamma,” whispered Mary, “must my 
father go to prison ? Won’t they let us go 
too?” 

“Hero comes my authority,” said the 
deputy sheriff. The elder Mr. F. doggedly 
placed himself in a chair. 

“ You shall not take my papa away,” cried 
out the little boy to his grandfather. 

“ W hatcver may have been my conduct, 
sir,” said the miserable Edward, “ this is 
unkind in you. I have not a single feeling 
for myself;- but my wife—my children! you 
have no right to harass them with your 
presence.” 

“Nay, husband,” responded Mrs. F., 
“think not of me. Your father cannot dis¬ 
tress mo. I have not known you from your 
childhood, as he has done, but he shall see 
how I can cling to you in your poverty. 
He has forgotten his youthful days,—he has 
lost sight of his own thoughtless years.” 

The old gentleman directed his law agent 
to leave the room. He then slowly but ner¬ 
vously answered thus : 

“ Madam, I have not forgotten m 3 ’ own 
thoughtless days. I have not forgotten 
that I once had a wife as amiable and noble- 
minded as yourself, and I have not forgotten 
that your husband was her favorite child. 
An old man hides his sorrows, but let not 
the world think him unfeeling, especially as 
that world taught him to do so. The dis¬ 
tress that I have this moment caused, was 
premeditated on my part. It has had its 
full effect. A mortal gets a vice by single 
steps, and many think the victim must re¬ 
turn by degrees. I know Edward’s dispo¬ 
sition, and that with him a single leap was 
sufficient. The leap he has taken. He is 
again in my memory as the favorite of bis 
poor mother; the laughing-eyed young of a 
—pshaw!—of a—an old fool!—for what am 
I crying?” 

Little Mary had insensibly drawn herself 
towards the old philosopher, and without 
uttering a word, pressed his hand, and put 
her handkerchief to her eyes. The boy 
also now left bis parents, and walked up to 
the old man’s knees, and turning up his 
round checks said, “Then you won’t take 
papa away ?” 


“No, you little, impudent rascal; but I’ll 
take 3*011 away, and when your mother 
comes for 3 T ou, I will treat her so well that 
I’ll make your father follow after.” 

Thus came happiness at the heels of ruin. 
It husbands oftoner appreciated the exqui¬ 
site and heaven-like affection of their wives, 
many happier firesides would be seen. 
“One in love and one in mind,” ought to be 
the motto of every married pair. And 
fathers would many a time check improvi¬ 
dences, if they were to make use of reflec¬ 
tion and kindness, rather than prejudice and 
strictness. 


OUR DARLING SAILOR BOY. 

BY GRACE H. HORR. 

Our hearts arc sad for thee, 

Whom on earth no more we’ll see! 
Thou wast cut down in tli 3 r prime, 

In thy beautiful spring-time, 

Our darling sailor bo 3 ’! 

Now beneath the waves he lies, 
Whom so man 3 ’ hearts did prize; 
How cruel was the sea, 

Who was loved too well by thee, 

Our darling sailor boy! 

Ob, 3*0 treacherous, glittering waves, 
Rolling over tbe watery graves, 
Could our darling find no rest 
But upon tl) 3 r chilling breast, 

Our darling sailor boy? 

On the sea he had his birth— 

She grew jealous of the earth, 

And she lured to her arms, 

B 3 7 her varied, subtle charms, 

Our darling sailor bo 3 *! 

All the dear ones gone before 
To that beauteous promised shore, 
He would follow through the deep, 
Where they lie in dreamless sleep, 
Our darling sailor bo 3 ’! 


AT RIDLEY’S. 

Any one in search of Christmas attrac¬ 
tions, and indeed eveiything which can 
please in a variety store, will do well to turn 
a little off Broadway, and out of tbe beaten 
track, and seek the well-known and unique 
bazaar of Ridley & Co., Grand Street, cast 
side. We cannot, within the limits of this 
notice, pretend to enumerate the varied and 
extensive array of beautiful things there to 
be found; while for what is to be obtained, 
the prices demanded are so astonishingly 
small as almost to stagger belief. To our 
friends, we would advise go to Ridley’s if 
3 t ou want what will please all ages, sizes, and 
conditions, in the shape of Christmas pres¬ 
ents, and the beautiful and useful generally. 


A SHAKER’S MEETING. 

“Reader,” sa 3 r s Charles Lamb, “wouldst 
thou know what true peace and quiet mean ; 
wouldst thou find a refuge from the noises 
and clamors of the multitude; wouldst thou 
possess the depth of tli 3 T own spirit in still¬ 
ness, without being shut out from the con¬ 
solatory faces of tl) 3 r species—come with me 
into a Quaker's Meeting.” 

But, —and so pregnant is this but with 
meaning that it deserves to be enclosed in 
one of those flourishes or more pretending 
vignettes with which the beginnings of chap¬ 
ters are adorned in old books,—if 3 T ou wish 
to have the depths of your soul rolled up 
into a muddy conglomeration of feelings; if 
3 T ou wish to view one of the most singular 
phases of eccentric, wandering, and 3*et uni¬ 
versal human nature; if‘3’0u wish to feel at 
once peace and unrest, quiet joy in a few 
simple and great truths and a deep disgust 
at the strange, wild, 3’et decent pageant be¬ 
fore 3’ou,—come with me into a Shaker's 
meeting. You go in softty and with a rev¬ 
erence into the Avide, scrupulously neat 
house, where excessive plainness presents a 
new idea of architectural beauty; and as 
soon as 3 r ou have put a noiseless step upon 
the polished floor, the chill absence of pews— 
those dumb, social, almost companionable 
reliefs of the vacancy of a great building— 
strikes oddl3 7 and painfully upon 3’our curi¬ 
osity, and 3 t ou slide into one of the seats by 
the wall, appropriated to such intrusive 
worldlings as 3’ourself, glad of the refuge 
even of a bench. Presently a side door 
opens, and a row of the demure sisterhood 
glide softly in, dressed in that quaint angular 
costume Avhich approximates the female 
form of those rude drawings of children, 
where the3 T place dots for the head, hands, 
and feet, and connect them by straight lines. 
The straight, stiff cap of snow-white muslin, 
pulled forward be3 T ond the temples, seems 
intended, like the blinders we put upon 
horses, to prevent an3 r sidelong glances of 
the e3 7 es over which it projects. Yet I have 
observed, at times, that the texture Avas not 
so entirely impervious as to prevent the 
sharp, glowing lustre of certain of their C3’es 
from peering quite through its flimsy ob¬ 
struction. They are all reduced to the same 
straight-cut, elderly forms; the old, to whom 
“the grasshopper hath becomo a burden,” 
and the young, who ought to be as free, as 
jo3’Oiis, and as light as that frisking insect 
itself, that hops from blade to blade of the 
tall grass in all the luxury of nature and 
the sun. Nothing Avould enable 3*011 to de¬ 
tect the presence of youth among them but 
that unfailing index of the 03-0; there , it is 
seated in that lustre of 3'oung life, that is 
irrepressible I>3’ any out ward restraint or dis¬ 
guise, and Avhich nothing but 3’ears and the 
diying up of life’s bubbling springs can ever 
dim. In a feAV seconds the door on the op- 
















124 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


positc side of tlic building lets in some of tlie 


brethren, the older and more saintly pre¬ 
ceding the younger and those who are not 
so far removed from the ranks of the back¬ 
sliding; and in the corner of the little ante¬ 
room, out of which they proceed, some one 
may be seen smoothing down his cropped 
hair and brushing a speck or two of dust 
from his clothes,—for not Shakerism itself 
can entirely suppress the inherent cox¬ 
combry of human nature. At length they 
are all in and all seated in deep, silent congre¬ 
gation, the men on one side, the women on 
the other, with their hands folded in their 
laps and their eyes cast down. Notwith¬ 
standing the strange, grotesque scene, no 
tendency to smile comes upon you, for it is 
all done with a decency, an order, and a quiet 
confiding reverence for the sanctity of the 
place and the occasion that address them¬ 
selves at once to your better feelings, and 
put far away all immediate sense of the 
ridiculous. But after a few moments of 
silence the whole assembly rise as one per¬ 
son, at a signal apprehensive only to them¬ 
selves, and having removed the benches, 
they stand in two dense square bodies oppo¬ 
site each other; and then you feel a painful 
reluctant curiosity, thinking that something 
is about to be done that will shock or dis¬ 
gust you. Again profound silence spreads 
its wings over the whole assembly, and 
when every nerve is calmed out of excite¬ 
ment of recent motion, some old man drops 
a few words about “ the privilege and the 
great importance” of meeting together, 
which fall gratefully upon your ear and 
bring you back again to the universal ideas 
and the common ground of religion itself, 
where every condition of mankind can sym¬ 
pathize with every other. Anon, the words 
cease—the assembly is again silent—and, in 
a few seconds, they burst forth in a song and 
begin their dance in two lines with their 
backs arranged towards you, dancing to and 
from the wall on the opposite side. Sud¬ 
denly the figure changes to two large circles, 
one within the other; the outer and the 
inner with their faces directed in opposite 
directions; while in the centre of the whole 
stand several men and as many women, 
who lead the song to which they dance. 
Bound they go, in a sort of swinging half 
dance and half march, with their hands 
raised before them to a level with their 
elbows, and flapping them up and down like 
fishes’ fins. They become more and more 
agitated as the song rises, and every now and 
then, at the recurrence of a sort of chorus, 
they clap their hands in one loud simulta¬ 
neous beat, and make the roof of the build¬ 
ing ring. You grow nervous at the sight 
and at the thrill, irregular, and almost wild 
music of the hymn ; you would be glad if it 
were over, or that 3-011 had not come ; but on 
they go, in this strange procession, for the 


space of half an hour, when the song sudden I 3 7 
ceases and they return to their places. r I hen, 
after a lew more simple, earnest words, tluy 7 
betake themselves to the benches, and an¬ 
other interval of silence follows, after which 
the meeting is abruptly broken up, and 3 -ou 
arc glad once more to be in the open air, to 
met back to the world and forms and ideas 
to which }-ou are used. 

Seldom will a sight present itself that 
will touch stranger 83 -mpathies than that of 
a child Shaker. Take it in its garb, fit only 
for the withered form of age, with its dry 
response, carrying 3 -ou back to scriptural 
communication of yea, 3 -ea, and mi}’, na}-; 
a child without the vagaries of childhood, a 
copy of the men and women Shakers, a 
chick on which the mantle of Ann Lee has 
fallen in miniature, and the oddities of all 
human fanaticism will not present many an 
odder image. It groweth up for a solemn 
crossing of hands, for a life that is one long 
strait-jacket, and for yea and nay; for the 
weaving of baskets and the pressing of 
cheeses on all week-days, and for a quaint old 
dance on all Sunda}-s, through fourscore 
and ten years. It knoweth naught of the 
high places, the brilliant sights, the power 
and grandeur and mechanism of that far 
countiy—that wicked island in an ocean of 
Shakerism—called the world; it keepeth on 
its growing and declining periods of life, 
eating, dancing, singing, working, with a 
solemnity that it learns to breathe as an 
atmosphere, and which is as little to be ac¬ 
counted for or conscious to itself. It hath no 
holidays, or spending-mone}-; it never shoots 
firecrackers, or lets off a squib. It does not 
keep a baby-house, or play at having a tea- 
part}-. The Fourth of July dawns to 
it like any other morning; and it never 
counts the weeks and then the days and 
then the hours to vacation. It never hears 
the words father and mother; and should it 
die—for little Shakers do die, though rarely 
—it will not be wept with a parent’s agony, 
even if the natural parents stand at the bed¬ 
side. Should you, in your worldly curiosity, 
seek a reason for this, you need not to be 
informed that Ann Lee said there were no 
parents and children. 


TELL HIM I LOVE HIM YET. 

Tell him I love him yet 
As in that joyous time! 

Tell him I ne’er forget— 

Though memory now be crime! 

Tell him when fades the light 
Upon the earth and sea, 

I dream of him by night_ 

lie must not dream of me I 


Tell him to go where Fame 
Looks proudly on the brave, 
And win a glorious name 
By deeds on land and wave. 

Green, green upon his brow 
The laurel wreath shall be— 
Although that laurel now 
Must not be shared with me! 

Tell him to smile again 

In pleasure’s dazzling throng— 
To wear another’s chain— 

To praise another’s song ! 

Before the loveliest there 
I’d have him bend the knee, 
And breathe to her the prayer 
lie used to breathe to me! 

Tell him that, day by day, 

Life looks to me more dim— 

I falter when I pray, 

Although I pray tor him. 

And bid him when I die, 

Come to our fav’rite tree— 

I shall not hear him sigh — 

Then let him sigh for me. 


STATIONERS AND PRINTERS. 

When, four thousand years ago, the Egyp¬ 
tian priest, on the sacred banks of the Nile, 
printed his records on soft clay, by means of 
characters raised upon tiles, he little thought 
that, after ages, there would come a time 
when his invention—the art of printing— 
would turn the ruling power of the globe, 
and would govern, through the press, all the 
nations of the earth. And when, two thou¬ 
sand five hundred years ago, the Assyrian 
monarch commanded his immortal deeds to 
go down to all posterity, printed on cylin¬ 
ders of clay on the banks of the Euphrates, 
among the papyrus and bulrushes of this 
stream, he little imagined that after the age 
ot gold, which he represented, and after the 
ages ot silver, iron, and clay (as he saw them 
in the great image), thero would come the 
age of paper, called after that very bulrush 
papyrus, an age which would, through its 
dazzling brilliancy, far outshine all the pre¬ 
ceding ages. Our age is the age of paper, 
the age ot the printing-press, and of the all- 
powerful paper called greenback. Who will 
deny it ? 

Messrs. Francis & Lontrcl, of 45 Maiden 
Lane, New I ork, have one of the greatest 
printing-offices in this country, and prove 
that Americans have brought this art to 
every perfection it is capable of, and are 
the champion printers of the world. 


















125 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


[From Scribner’s Monthly.] 

CHILD’S FAITH. 

BY MItS. S. M. B. PIATT. 

All beautiful tales, I trust, are true, 


MARVIN W. COOPER. 


THE BRIDE. 


Rut here is a grave in the moss, 

Ami there is the sky. And the buds are 
blue, 

And a butterfly blows aei’oss. 

Acs, here is the grave and there is the sky: 

To the one or the other we go. 

And between them wavers the butterfly, 
Like a soul that docs not know. 

Somewhere? Nowhere? Too-goldcn head, 
And lips that I miss and miss, 

You would tell me the secret of the dead— 
Could I find you with a kiss! 

* * * Come here, I say, little child of 

mine, 

Come with your bloom and your breath. 
(If bo should believe in the life divine, 

I will not believe in death !) 

“ Where is your brother?” I question low, 
And wait for his wise reply. 

Does he say, “Down there in the grave?” 
Ah, no; 

lie says, with a laugh, “In the sky!” 


THE GOOD OLD TIMES. 

The marketable value of singing, like that 
of every other commodity, is now very 
different from what it once was. Even as 
late as the year 1822 one writer, speaking of 
Mme. Catalani, says, “ She was not long 
since paid the enormous sum of fifty pounds 
a night for singing a few songs at an ora¬ 
torio!” If this writer styled fifty pounds a 
night “enormous,” what epithet would he 
apply to some of the salaries given to fair 
vocalists of the present da}’? About a 
century previous to Mme. Catalani’s time, 
singers’ salaries were calculated on a very 
different scale. Lavinia Felton, afterwards 
Duchess of Bolton, was tempted by Rich 
from the Haymarkot Theatre to Lincoln’s 
Inn Fields, in 1728, by a salary of fifteen 
shillings a week, which, on the success of the 
“ Beggar’s Opera,” the manager raised to 
exactly double that amount, in order per¬ 
manently to secure the services of the popu¬ 
lar artist. So great, we are informed, was 
the rage of the town for her that she was 
obliged to be guarded home every night by 
a considerable party of confidential friends, 
to prevent her being run away with. 

Hypocrisy is very common,—it being easy 
to acquire it,—but hypocrisy is totally differ¬ 
ent from dissimulation; hypocrisy is the 
attribute of low and evil minds. 


Tiie subject of this sketch, whose portrait 
figures among the engravings in this volume, 
was born in Windsor County, Vermont. A 
descendant of poor but highly respectable 
parents, they could only afford to give him 
such education as was obtainable in his dis¬ 
trict school. But his ambition and eager 
thirst for knowledge induced him to investi¬ 
gate at home what could not be taught at 
the school; and he made rapid advances in 
self-culture. 

At the age of eighteen, like many of our 
most successful men, he commenced life as a 
schoolmaster, and while teaching the “young 
ideas how to shoot,” studied hard to make 
himself perfect in the superior branches of 
education. He Avas not, however, cut out 
for a pedagogue. He made teaching oidy 
the means to an end. Business was the 
pursuit he aimed at, and New York the field 
of his youthful aspirations. 

Thither he went in 1849, and his activity, 
tact, honesty, and business ability soon Avon 
him golden opinions. He worked hard and 
spent little, living decently but without ex¬ 
tra A’agance. Success did not delay in com¬ 
ing;. Before Ion" he had saved enough, and 
acquired sufficient credit, to be able to start 
business for himself; and in 1857 the firm of 
Smyth, Sprague & Cooper was formed, and 
soon became a leading business firm in the 
branch of trade they had undertaken, and 
remains so up to the present time. In 18G7 
the firm existed under the style of Cooper, 
Vale & Co. 

Mr. Cooper is now one of the foremost and 
most successful merchants in Ncav York, 
and stands high in the estimation of business 
people, avIio are proud to court his friend¬ 
ship and seek his advice. 

He is a confirmed old bachelor, never 
having married. The proverbial crotchets 
and crustiness of the sect, however, are quite 
foreign to his nature. His frank, genial face 
can be seen at once as the index of the 
generous soul within, and the distressed are 
often encouraged by it to lay their troubles 
before him. Though often importuned, he 
is accessible to all, and the really deserving 
never appeal to him in vain. A powerful 
enemy, he is also a stanch friend; and in 
social life his 1 ively manners and entertain¬ 
ing mind constitute him an ever welcome 
factor. 

Mi’. Cooper uoav carries on business by 
himself at 34G Broadway, New York, and 
89 Bedford Street, Boston. 


Be open without levity ; generous without 
waste; secret without craft; humble without 
meanness; bold without insolence; cautious 
without anxiety; regular yet not formal; 
mild yet not timid; firm yet not tyrannical. 


They tell me, gentle lady, that they deck 
thee for a bride, 

That the wreath is woven in thy hair, for 
the bridegroom by thy side; 

And I think I hear thy father’s sigh, thy 
mother’s calmer tone, 

As they give thee to another’s arms,—their 
beautiful, their own. 

I never suav a bridal but my eyelid hath 
been Avet; 

For it seemed to me as though a joyous 
crowd had met 

To see the saddest sight of all,—a young and 
girlish thing 

Cast aside her maiden gladness for a name 
and for a ring. 

When I think how often I have seen thee, 
Avith thy face so calm and mild, 

And lovely look, and step, and air, and bear¬ 
ing like a child, 

Oh, bow mournfully, how mournfully, it 
comes across my brain 

That you nevermore mayest be that free 
and girlish thing again ! 

I would that as my heart dictates, that such 
might be my lay, 

That my voice should be a voice of mirth, 
of music, like the May; 

But, ah! in vain, Avithin my heart, how 
frozen are the springs, 

The murmur dies upon my lip, the music 
on the strings. 

But a voice is floating round me, and it tells 
me in my rest, 

That sunshine shall illume thy path, that joy 
shall be thy guest; 

That thy life shall be a summer’s day, thy 
evening shall go down, 

Like the evening of the eastern clime, that 
never knows a frown. 

When thy foot is at the altar, when the ring 
has pressed thy hand, 

When those thou lovest and those that love 
thee Aveeping round thee stand, 

Oh, may the rhyme Avhich friendship 
weaves, like a spirit of the air, 

Come o’er thee at that moment, for a bless¬ 
ing and a prayer. 


One of the first steps toAvards placing 
others at our implicit disposal, is to put 
them in love Avith themselves, by exciting 
their vanity; and then take advantage of 
the delusion for your oavu benefit. 

What greater instance can there be of a 
Avoak and pusillanimous temper, than for a 
man to pass his Avhole life in opposition to 
his own sentiments; or not to dare to do 
what he thinks he ought to do? 













126 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


BRIGHT DAYS OF WINTER. 

Bland as tlie morning’s breath of June 
The southwest breezes play, 

And through its haze the winter noon 
Seems warm as summer’s day. 

The snow-plumed angel of the north 
II as dropped his icy spear; 

Again the mossy earth looks forth, 
Again the streams look clear. 

The fox his hill-side den forsakes; 

The muskrat leaves his nook; 

The bluebird in the meadow-brakes 
Is singing with the brook. 

“ Bear up, oh, mother nature,” cry 
Bird, beast, and streamlet free, 

“ Our winter voices prophesy 
Of summer daj’s to thee.” 

So in these winters of the soul, 

By wintry blasts and drear 

O’erswept from memory’s frozen pole, 
Will summer days appear. 

Reviving hope and faith, they show 
The soul its living powers, 

And now beneath the winter’s snow 
Lie germs of summer flowers. 

The night is mother of the day, 

The winter of the spring, 

And even upon old decay 
The greenest mosses cling. 

In deepest wood some daylight lurks, 

T1 trough flowers and sunshine fall, 

For God, who loveth all His works, 

Has left His hopo with all. 


A man without assurance is liable to be 
made uneasy by the folly or ill-nature of 
every one he converses with: a man without 
modesty is lost to all sense of honor and 
virtue: a modest assurance is the just mean 
between bashfulness and impudence. 

There is a wide difference between the 
confidence which becomes a man and the 
simplicity which disgraces a fool. 

Be not confident in a plain way. 

That man is guilty of impertinence who 
considers not the circumstances of time, or 
engrosses the conversation, or makes him¬ 
self the subject of his discourse, or pays no 
regard to the company ho is in. 

Wjiat is often termed shyness is nothing 
more than a refined sense and'an indifference 
to common observations. 

Calumny is like the brands flying from a 
large fire, which quickly go out if you do not 
blow them. 


OVERSHOOTING THE MARK. 

BY SUSAN ARCHER WEIS. 

“ I really don’t see what is to be done,” 
said Mrs. Sutton, as she meditatively folded 
a letter stamped with a foreign post-mark. 

The letter was from Charlie, who was 
spending his last college vacation in Europe, 
and who now wrote to announce his speedy 
return, accompanied by his friend, Mr. 
Philip Warrington. 

Charlie Sutton was evidently very proud 
to call Mr. Warrington his friend. He had 
met him in the course of his travels, and 
always wrote of him as “a splendid fellow, 
clever, handsome, and”—with a view to the 
special consideration of his mother and sis¬ 
ter—“rich, and of one of the first families of 
B-.” 

And now, in accordance with his mother’s 
instructions, he had invited his friend to 
spend a week with them, before going on to 
his more Southern home, and she must ex¬ 
pect them in a few days. 

There was one drawback to Mrs. Sutton’s 
satisfaction to this arrangement, and it was 
to this that her remarks on closing the letter, 
referred. 

“This will be a capital chance for you, 
Isabel,” she said, addressing her daughter; 
“in fact, the best probably that you will 
ever have. But it requires more tact than 
you have yet shown; and, besides, there is 
Alice, who might spoil all, as she did in the 
affair of Col. Sawyer. I really don’t see 
what is to be done as regards Alice.” 

Alice was Mr. Sutton’s niece, whom he 
bad taken to his home on the death of her 
parents. She was at that time fifteen, and 
as her cousin Isabel had just made her entree 
into society, she was found to be somewhat 
in the way, and was sent to boarding-school. 

Here she had remained until the past 
winter, when, being nineteen, it was found 
positively necessary that she should come 
home and be introduced into society. 

But, unfortunately, as Mrs. Sutton con¬ 
sidered, Alice’s sweet face, and graceful, 
winning manners bad proven with some 
persons a greater charm than the bold 
beauty of the rather “fast” Isabel Sutton,— 
Col. Sawyer in special, to entrap whom the 
anxious mother and daughter had employed 
the whole amount of their talent and ener¬ 
gies. 

He had, upon seeing Alice, transferred his 
attention from Isabel to herself, and had ac¬ 
tually proposed to Mr. Sutton for the hand 
of his niece instead of his daughter. 

It made no difference that Alice declined 
the honor. Isabel bad lost her best chance; I 
and though, of course, her cousin could not 
be properly blamed in the matter, yet she j 
was “ dangerous.” And now that another 
and yet better chance was about to offer in | 
the person ol Mr. Warrington, Alice must, j 


in some way or the other, be gotten rid of 
for the time. 

That evening, at tea, Mrs. Sutton, after 
adroitly leading the conversation in the 
proper direction, remarked to her husband,— 

“By the by, my dear, when did you last 
hear from your Aunt Curtis? I fear that 
we have of late rather neglected the old lady.” 

“ So I have often told you,” returned her 
husband, who was an enterprising business 
man, not so worldly-minded as his wife. 
“Aunt Curtis was very kind to me when I 
was a boy, and certainly deserves more at¬ 
tention than I have had time to bestow. 
She is old and infirm, too, and yet in four 
years not one of my family have been to see 
her.” 

“ Why, it is such a lonely, out-of-the-way 
country place,” replied his wife, “that really 
to go there seems quite an undertaking. 
Yet I don’t wish to neglect the old lady. 
She wrote last year that she would like to 
see the girls, now that they are grown up; 
and Alice’s mother, you know, was her 
favorite niece. I am sure she would be 
gratified at a visit from us. Indeed, now 
that we speak of it, I and the girls may as 
well run up to Copley Farm for a day or 
two. What do you say, girls?” 

“Let us go, aunt, by all means!” was 
Alice’s quick reply. “I should like to see 
my mother’s aunt; and you know it is lovely 
in the country at this season.” 

Isabel shrugged her fair shoulders, but 
prudently said nothing; and on the following 
day the three ladies were at the quiet old- 
fashioned little farm-house, some twenty 
miles from the city. 

“It seems a pity to leave the poor old lady 
so soon,” said Mrs. Sutton, “she is so infirm, 
and that housekeeper of hers is not, I sup¬ 
pose, over-attentive to her comfort. Then 
she seems so fond of you, Alice, and enjoys 
so much your reading to her. I wish that 
one of you girls would remain longer; I am 
sure it would be a comfort to the poor old 
lady.” 

Alice needed no persuasion. She was a 
kind-hearted and amiable girl, and her sym¬ 
pathies had been enlisted for this lonely, 
infirm old lady, her mother’s aunt, who 
seemed so forgotten and alone in the world. 
Her own mother had been of very delicate 
health, and the young girl, accustomed to 
attend upon her, had learned many little 
ways of nursing and comforting the sick, 
and making dainty little dishes to tempt a 
feeble appetite. And then she could read to 
Aunt Curtis in the sweet low voice that had 
been such a comfort to her mother, and she 
felt, also, what the old lady had said, that 
the very sight of a bright young face in the 
silent house was as cheering as tho ray of 
sunshine on a cloudy day.” 

Ho Alice remained at Copley Farm, while 
her aunt and cousin, rejoicing at the success 

















JOHN MAMS HALL, 


CHIEF JUSTICE OK 


THE UNITED 


ST AT V 


18 01 TO 18 3 5. 





















127 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


of their innocent little scheme, returned to 
the city to welcome Charlie and his friend. 

It was a disappointment to find that 
Charlie had arrived without his friend, Mr. 
Warrington. That gentleman, it appeared, 
had had a previous engagement to spend a 
few days with a relative, whom they found 
awaiting them on the steamer’s arrival; but 
he would make his appearance in a week or 
so, and Mrs. Sutton wrote to Alice that she 
could remain at Copley until Charlie and 
Isabel went up for her. 

Alice had no objection. She was greatly 
enjoying her visit to the farm. It was the 
first of October, when the country was most 
beautiful, with a lingering of summer glory 
mingling with the deepening lines of au¬ 
tumn. 

She was an impassionate lover of nature, 
and yet, city bred, had never before seen 
nature in this glorious revelation of autum¬ 
nal beauty, and it dawned upon her like the 
reading of some new and beautiful poem. 

“ Strange that there are people content to 
live in the city, when the country is so beauti¬ 
ful!” she thought, one evening, as, standing 
knee-deep in ferns, beneath a canopy of 
crimson and gold foliage, she gazed in 
dreamy delight over the lovely scene before 
her. 

A rustling in a neighboring thicket startled 
her. There was a sudden shot, a whirring- 
past of a brood of partridges, and the next 
moment a dog rushed forth, deliberately 
followed by a gentleman in a gray hunting- 
dress. 

As his eyes fell upon the young girl, stand¬ 
ing in a graceful, half-startled manner, he 
lifted his hat courteously. 

“ I hope that I have not alarmed you,” ho 
said. “ I should not have fired had I known 
that a lady was near.” 

The dog bounded back with a dead par¬ 
tridge, which lie dropped at his master’s 
feet. 

Alice took it up gently. 

“Poor little thing! It was cruel to kill 
it!” she said, pityingly, as she lifted her 
brown eyes, softened with tender compas¬ 
sion, to the face of the stranger. 

He smiled,—a curious smile, in which ap¬ 
peared both interest and amusement. 

“Then I am sorry that I should have 
killed it, and, in penance, will not fire an¬ 
other shot to-day.” 

“I have no right to require that sacrifice 
of you,” she answered, shyly, as she turned 
away. 

Rut he again addressed her. 

“It appears that our pathways lie in the 
same direction. If you are going to Mrs. 
Curtis’s, will you permit me to accompany 
you? The lady is an old friend of mine, 
and I was on my way to see her. It was 
lor her that I intended these birds.” 

“ l am staying at my Aunt Curtis’s,” she 


said, “and in consideration of the motive, 
I forgive you for shooting these poor birds.” 

They walked, in the lingering sunset, 
slowly along the lonely wood-path that led 
to the old farm-house, pausing a moment on 
the brow of the eminence that overlooked it, 
as it lay like a brown bird’s nest embowered 
in trees in the meadows below. 

“ Time has forgotten this little nook,” re¬ 
marked the gentleman. “ It’s as unchanged 
now as I remember it fifteen years ago.” 

“You do not reside in the neighborhood,, 
then ?” 

“No. My homo is in the Sunny South ; 
but, when a boy, I used to be a frequent 
visitor to this neighborhood. Perhaps I 
ought to introduce myself. I am Philip 

Warrington, of B-, and nephew of Dr. 

Gray.” 

Dr. Gray was her Aunt Curtis’s physician, 
and resided on the next farm ; but it was the 
name of her companion that now attracted 
Alice’s attention ; she had become familiar 
with it from Charlie’s letters, and she said 
impulsively,— 

“ You have just returned from Europe? 
Then you are my cousin Charlie Sutton’s 
friend of whom he has so often wrote?” 

It seemed a pleasant mutual discovery, 
and the two were no longer strangers. 

Aunt Curtis was delighted to see “Phil.” 
He had grown so wonderfully, she said,— 
quite a big boy. 

And she related many remembered bold 
boyish adventures of his, in the old time, 
that seemed so long past to him, so short to 
her. Finally she insisted that, as he had 
had a long walk, he should “stay to supper,” 
and he, apparently nothing loth, accepted 
the invitation. 

There is no place on earth (excepting, 
perhaps, on shipboard) where two young per¬ 
sons thrown together are so apt to fall mutu¬ 
ally in love as in a quiet house in the coun¬ 
try. Certainly, in this instance, the being 
“thrown together” Avas not entirely acci¬ 
dental, since Mr. Philip Warrington, in his 
interest in the old lady, every day found 
something to bring him to Copley. 

Now it was to bring her a new paper, or 
a message from the doctor; then to read her 
some very interesting extracts from a iicav 
book; and then again to offer her larks or 
partridges, forgetful of the cruelty of shoot¬ 
ing them. 

And in the soft, rich, and dreamy October 
evening, he and Alice, strolling in the old- 
fashioned garden, or down the lane, rich in 
autumnal flowers, or seated on the meadow 
stiles, beneath the golden maples, spent such 
hours of happiness as can come to us but 
once in a lifetime, — Avith the first dream of 
dawning love. 

And so it came to pass that Mrs. Sutton, 
anxiously Avaiting at home, and still taxing 
her ingenuity for excuses to keep her niece 


“out of the way,” suddenly heard something 
which sent her flying up to Copley by the 
next day’s train, in a mood of mind by no 
means enviable. 

And the first person she saAV, on reaching 
Copley, was Alice, standing on the old- 
fashioned “stoop,” canopied by autumn 
roses, with,, a remarkably handsome and 
elegant-looking young man by her side, the 
attitude and expression of both revealing at 
a single glance what Mrs. Sutton felt to be a 
deatb-bloAv to all her scheming and hopes. 
She had aimed well; but, as is the case with 
eA r en the most clever people, had strained 
too hard, and overshot the mark. 


[From the Saturday Evening Post.] 

TO MISS -. 

Fare thee well, perhaps forever, 

Painful, bitter, though it be; 

Oh, that I the ties could seAmr 
Binding still my soul to thee! 

I have striven to forget thee, 

From thy presence wished to go; 

But whene’er my eyes have met thee, 

I have loved thee still the more. 

Canst thou, wilt thou, not forgive me? 
Oh, forgive, forget the past! 

And if thou canst never love me, 

Grant thy friendship to the last. 

If’tis criminal to adore thee, 

Guilt, pure love for thee to feel, 

Deep in crime I stand before thee; 

For I love thee far too Avell. 

True, too rash were the advances 
Ardent love did make to thee; 

But thy matchless smiles and glances 
Won my heart and ruined me. 

Fare thee Avell, earth’s brightest treasure, 
Happy be thy lot beloA\ T ; 

May thy bosom thrill with pleasure 
Mine can ne’er expect to know. J. 


To be despised or blamed by an incom¬ 
petent or uncandid judge, may give a mo¬ 
mentary pain, but ought not to make us 
unhappy. 

Never give a promise which may in the 
event interfere with your duty. 

Promises of secrecy ought not to be vio¬ 
lated, although the public Avould derive an 
advantage from the discovery. Such prom¬ 
ises contain no unlaAvfulness in them, to 
destroy their obligation ; for as the informa¬ 
tion would not have been imparted upon 
any other condition, the public lose nothing 
by the promise Avhich they Avould have 
gained without it. 

Fear never Avas a friend to the 1oa*o of’ God 
or man, to duty or conscience, to truth, 
probity, or honor. 
















128 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


THE HARVEST TIME. 

The harvest sun, how bright at noon, 

His richest radiance throwing, 

And oh, how bright the harvest moon, 

As she with joy is glowing; 

And fain with us would strike the chime, 
The harvest time, the harvest time. 

Our land is broad, we’ve every clime, 

And all some gift possessing; 

And all enjoy the harvest time, 

That makes each gift a blessing. 

Then let our hearts and voices chime, 

The harvest time, the harvest time. 


HOW TO CARRY AN UMBRELLA. 

Perhaps 3*011 don’t know? If so, I’ll tell 
3*011. 

If you are in the countiy, where there is 
plent}* of room, the knowledge will be of no 
benefit to 3*ou, and you had better not waste 
your time reading this article. But if 3*011 
are in the city 3*011 will find it practically to 
3’our advantage tostud3*the rules laid down. 

To begin at the beginning:— 

Be sure and pull down your hat over 3*0111* 
e3*es before 3*011 start out with 3*0111’ umbrella. 
Button up 3mm- coat. If it is cold weather, 
tie on a muffler. If 3*011 chew tobacco, take 
a fresh quid. Slam the door when 3*011 go 
out of the house. It will give people inside 
a clear understanding of the fact that 3*011 
are proprietor, and have a right to slam 
3*our own door as much as 3*011 please. 

After 3*ou step on a crowded sidewalk, 
thrust 3*0111- umbrella under 3*0111- arm, and 
try and have the two points stick out 
equals* before and behind at right angles 
with your bod3*. It is alwa3*s well, when 3*011 
are purchasing, to bu3* as long an umbrella 
as you can get. It will bo likely to last 
longer, as well as to stick out farther when 
you are cariying it. 

Then walk as fast as 3*011 can. The faster 
the better. People in cities always go fast, 
for fear time will overtake them. 

Eveiybody who has the impudence to 
push up behind 3’ou will get punished for it 
by a poke from the umbrella 3*011 carry be¬ 
hind ; and eveiylx^* 3*011 meet will get a 
poke from the umbrella 3*011 carry in front; 
for arranged in this way an umbrella acts 
on the principle of a double-ender, and, like 
old Grandpa lyman’s gun, kills equally well 
at both ends. 

If a small bo3* or two should be knocked 
over, no matter. It will learn small bo3*s 
to stay at home and pick up chips for their 
mothers. No business out in the street, 
getting in the way of people’s umbrellas. 

If it rains, spread your umbrella and hold 
it well down in front of 3*011. People who 
arc coming the other way must keep their 
own lookout. Of course you will he going 
with 30111- face to the storm. One alwa3*s 


is. If 3*ou butt anybody’s 03*03 out it won’t 
be 3’our fault,—they should have got out of 
the way when they saw 3*011 coming. 

If your umbrella becomes entangled in a 
lady’s laces or fringes, don’t stop to disen¬ 
tangle it. Tear along. Serves her right 
for wearing such fooleries. 

Make 3*0111- way, no matter what sinks or 
swims, and most likely 3^011 will die rich, 
and all 3*0111- relations will be boiling over 
with joy at your death, and will find em- 
plo3*mcnt for a 3’oar to come in fighting over 
the lucre 3mu have left behind 3*011. 


ONE WAY OF COLLECTING SUBSCRIPTIONS. 

A barrister recently received a letter 
from a school board election agent to this 
effect: “Sir: I am deepl3* interested in pro¬ 
curing the return of Mr. -—— for the board, 
and knowing 3*0111- views upon educational 
matters, have taken the liberty of placing 
your name upon his committee. I have 
further ventured to put down 3*0111’ name as 
a subscriber of five guineas towards his ex¬ 
penses, and unless 3*011 notify to me on or 
before the —th that 3*011 do not concur in 
these arrangements, I shall take the further 
liberty of assuming that 3*011 acquiesce in 
them, and that I may look to 3*011 for the 
subscription recorded to 3*0111* name.” 

The barrister promptly replied: “Sir: I 
regret that I cannot accept the offers made 
by 3*011 to me in 3*0111- letter of 3’csterday. 
I may, however, mention that I am deepty 
interested in raising a fund to provide for 
the necessities of a destitute and deserving 
widow lady. Knowing 3*0111- charitable dis¬ 
position, I have taken the liberty of putting 
down 3’our name as a subscriber for ten 
guineas, and since bis dat qui cito, I shall, 
unless I hear to the contrary from you by 
mid-day to-morrow, venture to assume that 
3*oii accept my offices on 3*0111- behalf, and 
that I ma3* look to 3*011 for that amount of 
subscription.” 

Early next morning came a messenger, in 
haste in a cab, bearing a letter from the 
agent. “So sorry, but the pressing calls 
upon his purse forbade him to accept 
Mr.-’s kind offices .”—London Examiner. 


THE HAVEN OF REST. 

Always the idea of unbroken quiet broods 
around the grave. It is a port where the 
storms of life never beat and the forms that 
have been tossed on the chafing waves lie 
quiet for evermore. There the child nestles 
as peaceful^* as ever it hi3* in its mother’s 
arms, and the workman’s hands lie still by 
his side, and the thinker’s brain is pillowed 
in silent n^-stoiy, and the poor girl’s broken 
heart is steeped in a balm that extracts its 
secret woe, and is in the keeping of a charit3* 
that covers all blame. 


HUMOROUS. 

Popping the Question. —One of the Dan¬ 
bury 3’oung men who has occasionally 
escorted a 3*oung lady home on Sunday 
evenings, and went in for lunch, after per¬ 
forming both services last Sunday night, 
suddenly said to her,—■ 

“ Do 3*011 talk in 3*0111- sleep ?” 

“Wk3*—no,” she answered, in surprise. 

“Do 3*011 walk in 3*our sleep?” he next 
inquired. 

“ No, sir.” 

He moved his chair an inch closer, and 
with increased interest asked,— 

“ Do 3*ou snore ?” 

“No,” she hastil3*replied, looking uneasily 
at him. 

At this reply his e3*cs fairly sparkled. 
His lips eagerl3* parted, and as he gave his 
chair another hitch, he briskly inquired,— 

“Do 3*ou throw the combings from 3*0111- 
hair in the wash-basin ?” 

“What’s that?” she asked, with a blank 
face. 

He repeated the question, although with 
increased nervousness. 

“No, I don’t,” she answered, in some 
haste. 

Again his chair went forward, while his 
agitation grew so great that he could scarcely 
maintain his place upon it, as he further 
asked,— 

“Do 3*011 clean out the comb when 3*011 
are through?” 

“ Of course I do,” she said, staring at him 
with all her might. 

In an instant he was on his knees before 
her, his C3*es ablaze with flame, and his 
hands outstretched. 

“ Oh, my dear Miss, I love you!” lie pas¬ 
sionate^* cried. “ I give 1113* whole heart up 
to 3*ou. Love me, and I will be 3*0111- slave. 
Love me as I love 3*011, and I will do eveiy- 
thing on earth for you. Oh, will you take 
me to he your lover, your husband, your 
protector, your everything?” 

It was a critical moment for a young 
woman of her 3*cars, but she was equal to 
the emergency, as a woman generally is, and 
she scooped him in. 

“ Have you aii3* nice fresh farmers’ eggs?” 
inquired a precise old lady at a Main Street 
grocery store yesterday. “No, ma’am,” re¬ 
plied a practical clerk, “ but we have some 
very good hens’ eggs.” She took three to 
try. 

A plain-spoken woman recently visited a 
married acquaintance, and said to her, 
“How do 3’ou contrive to amuse yourself?” 

Amuse! said the other, starting. “1)03*011 
not know that I have 1113* housework to do?” 

“ Vcs,” was the answer; “ I sec 3*011 have it 
to do; but as it’s never done, I conclude you 
must have some other way of spending 3*0111- 
time.” 














120 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


PROVERBS IN POLITE ENGLISH. 

There arc occasions on which it is difficult 
to get through a sentence, either in writing 
or conversation, but by the aid of that old- 
fashioned vulgarity, a proverb. The most 
profound thinker will be sometimes at a loss 
for an expression exactly adapted for the 
conveyance of an obstinate idea; the most 
accomplished and elegant writer will occa¬ 
sionally find the finest and choicest phrase¬ 
ology unsuited to his purpose. Let them 
paint an inch thick, to a plain bare proverb 
they must come. We can even imagine 
Coleridge coming to a pause in his full, 
deep, conversational chant,—suddenly down¬ 
wheeling, like a falcon, from the realm of 
imagination wherein be had traced the in¬ 
finite forms of loveliness, and embodied in 
discourse all that is most exquisite in ideal 
beauty,—and descending plump upon a com¬ 
monplace maxim, and by acknowledging 
that “beauty” after all is but “skin deep.” 
We can imagine Mr. Bulwer, whose pen is as 
a Prospero’s wand, which Pucks and Ariels 
arc proud to obey, discovering, in a masterly 
essay upon human character and the influ¬ 
ence of education and example, the inapti¬ 
tude of loftier language than that in which 
his closing admission might be expressed,— 
that “ what is bred in the bone will never 
come out of the flesh.” 

But it must be owned that the homeliness 
and bad taste of many of these venerable 
conveniences preclude them very often from 
polite use. They are rough diamonds, and 
require polishing before they can be set with 
effect in a shining composition. We have 
just accidentally discovered that this very 
desirable polish has been communicated to 
many of the choicest of our proverbs, by the 
fair hand of the author of “Brother Trage¬ 
dians.” Miss Isabel Hill is the lapidary of 
our proverbial literature. In a stray num¬ 
ber of a departed periodical, we recently 
met with a string of proverbs translated into 
polite language, and they are so admirably 
rendered, with so much originality and hu¬ 
mor, that we eagerly extract some specimens 
of them, in the conviction that they are still 
“as good as new”—for they cannot have 
been seen by many eyes in the obscurity of 
their original publication. Miss Hill says, 
“ 1 differ from the million as to vulgarity of 
using old sayings; some of them are truly 
expressive and significant; it is only to the 
homeliness of their style that T object. My 
refined friend Leonine has indifferently re¬ 
formed this.” The following are among the 
specimens of Leonine’s success in transmut¬ 
ing lead into gold: 

Coined metal impels the feminine horse. 

It is painful to be in attendance for the 
pumps of departed individuals. 

Do not exclaim vociferously till you have 
passed beyond the forest. 

17 


No longer perform on the flageolet, no 
longer gallopade. 

Loveliness lies not beneath the superficies 
of the exterior cuticle. 

Let every man pursue the bent of his own 
genius, as the elderly matron observed while 
saluting her vaccine favorite. 

An equestrian mendicant will journey 
towards the realms of his Satanic Majesty. 

Too great a number of culinary assistants 
may impair the flavor of the consonance. 

An obese affliction is preferable to an 
emaciated one. 

Apply not the oleaginous product of dairies 
to the incisors of your hunter. 

A pebble, in a state of circumvolution, ac¬ 
quires not the lichens of mural vegetation. 

Royalty may be contemplated with im¬ 
punity, even by feline quadrupeds. 

Feathered bipeds of similar plumage will 
live gregariously. 

To that which the retina docs not receive, 
the pericardium remains insensible. 

Why should the smaller domestic utensils 
accuse the larger of nigritude? 

A greater volume of aqueous fluid passes 
the machine for pulverizing wheat than its 
proprietor is aware of. 

Do not adopt a vehicular conveyance till 
you can afford anti-attrition. 

The taciturn female of the porcine genus 
imbibes the richest nutriment. 

The capital of the Papal states was not 
constructed in a diurnal revolution of the 
globe. 

Experienced warblers are rarely made 
prisoners by the husks of grain. 

An abrupt inclination of the head is equiva¬ 
lent to a sudden closing of the eye, to a racer 
laboring under a cataract. 

One proper deviation from the straight 
line merits a similar event. 

By the same process that you heat kneaded 
dough, you amalgamate malt and hops. 

By the same method in which you formed 
your couch, so you may recline on it. 

A vacant tenement is superior to a vicious 
inhabitant. 

It is a sage infant who is intimately ac¬ 
quainted with his own paternal relative. 

The infernal being is not so sable as limners 
have represented him. 

No ablution will convert an African into 
an Albino. 

Inferior falcons will not extract the visual 
organs of their kind. 

lie who treats the misfortunes of others 
as themes for risibility, may have that each- 
innation transferred to the opposite side of 
his facial muscles. 


Elongated articles of table equipage are 
required by those who take petit soupers with 
the author of evil. 

In the absence of the miniature tiger, the 
muscupular race will become festive. 

Do not calculate the number of your juve¬ 
nile poultry before the process of incubation 
be completed. 

It is more pleasing to arrive at the termi¬ 
nation of a banquet than at the commence¬ 
ment of a journey. 

But Miss Hill’s ingenious friend Leonine 
deals sometimes “more cunningly” with us, 
and translates the most ill-favored proverbs 
into exceedingly folicious puzzles, thus : 

That indispensable to gastronomy on which 
the smoke acts will, if excellent, make an 
equally perfect quarter of a pint. 

Give some men a small island, and they 
will take a liquid letter. 

Wherever there is a testament there is a 
path. 

The artful person shall be captivated in 
his own Geneva. 

One fleecy animal, cutaneously infected, 
will spread contagion through the coarser 
kind of mill-puff. 

Are not all these vulgarities rendered into 
amenities of the most delicate and insinu¬ 
ating character? What a reform of the 
proverbs is here effected ! It is as though a 
Robin Roughhead should be changed by the 
touch of a subtle magician into a Lord Fop- 
pington. The fair Leonine has rendered us 
a lasting service. The most fastidious of our 
readers, who might not like to remark that 
“Rome was not built in a day,” can hence¬ 
forth feel no hesitation in observing that 
“ The capital of the Papal states was not 
constructed in a diurnal revolution of the 
globe;” nor can the most refined, though 
naturally shrinking from the indelicacy of 
the original, “it is ill waiting for dead men’s 
shoes,” detect the least tincture of coarse¬ 
ness in allusion to the pain of being “in at¬ 
tendance for the pumps of departed indi¬ 
viduals.” 


A FATAL GAS. 

In volcanic regions springs and wells of 
carbonic acid gas are not unfrequent, form¬ 
ing part of the geological formation, like the 
springs and wells of petroleum in certain 
districts of this country. The Dogs' Grotto, 
near Naples, enjoys a world-wide reputation 
for evil. It displays the fact that carbonic 
acid gas is so much heavier than air. that it 
lies on the ground like a pool of water. The 
gas flows out over the threshold of the door, 
and runs like a brook down the path leading 
up to the grotto. In calm weather a lighted 
candle plunged into the stream near its point 
of exit is immediately extinguished. 










130 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


DOSING. 

There arc a host of people who seem to 
have little else to do but to consider their 
physical condition and administer doses for 
its improvement; people who are positively 
dissipated and intemperate in their use of 
medicines, and appear to think this world 
not so much a vale of tears as of drugs ; 
people to whom a new prescription affords a 
delight only equalled by that which a savant 
would derive from the possession of a bone 
of the extinct megatherium. 

If they are in the least under the weather, 
it never occurs to them to allow Nature to 
work out its own salvation, but they take 
their affairs into their own hands, and having 
small acquaintance with her processes, the 
result resembles that of a novice attempting 
the tasks of a superior, and making them 
the more difficult for that superior to accom¬ 
plish. One of the peculiar pleasures of such 
persons consists in persuading others to try 
their method of cure. The most delicate 
compliment you can pay them is to swallow 
some nauseating mixture upon their recom¬ 
mendation, which all the while bears a strong 
family likeness to that of those who, with 
bad complexions, assure you that soap is 
wholesome for the skin, or bald people who 
extol the virtue of certain washes which 
they have employed. This art of dosing 
does not interfere, however, with the useful¬ 
ness of the family physician, but rather sup¬ 
plies him with practice by laying the foun¬ 
dation for positive disease. The stomach 
which has been unrighteously corrected re¬ 
bels at length ; the nerves that have been 
too often artificially soothed finally refuse to 
acknowledge the power of the charmer; the 
strength engendered by stimulants proves 
but a broken reed ; appetites fortified by fre¬ 
quent toidcs surrender one day without re¬ 
serve. 

If the science of medicine itself is as yet 
only experimental, must not amateur dosing, 
beyond question, belong to the most object¬ 
ionable class of empiricisms!— Harpers' Bazar. 


PAPER CAR-WHEELS. 

The infinite variety of purposes to which 
paper is applied in the empire of Japan has 
astonished all Europeans who have visited 
that country. They have literally found 
paper, paper everywhere, and in all shapes 
and forms. The Japanese, however, with all 
their ingenuity in this direction, would never 
have dreamed of making paper wheels for 
railway carriages. This, nevertheless, is being 
done at Sheffield at this moment, and we 
have seen a sample of the work. The paper 
wheels have steel tires, made with an inside 
llango and cast iron boss. On each side of the 
boss arc tires to which steel plates one-sixth 
of an inch thick are bolted, and the space 


between the plates is filled with compressed 
paper. The paper is composed of what are 
known as “straw boards,’ and these ate 
made to adhere to each other by means of 
rye paste. The combined layers ot paper are 
next subjected to hydraulic pressure to the 
extent of two thousand tons for the space ot 
four or five hours, and then dried in a heated 
air-bath. The final thickness of the prepared 
paper is about three-fourths ot an inch, and, 
as may be imagined, the quantity ot straw- 
board packed in this concentrated space by 
the giant force of the hydraulic ram is enor¬ 
mous. Still a certain amount of the elasticity 
remains to the substance, and this—in unison 
with its homogeneity and singular smooth¬ 
ness of grain and texture—constitutes one 
of its highest qualifications for the duty it 
will presently have to perform. Lathes, 
slide-rests, and sharp tools are made to shape 
the compressed paper into disks of the pro¬ 
per size, and under a pressure of four hun¬ 
dred tonN these are then forced into the tires. 
The steel protecting plates are subsequently 
bolted to the inner and outer peripheries of 
the wheels, and after a finishing touch to the 
latter they are ready to be keyed on their 
axle and placed under the railway carriage. 
It is understood that experiments have gone 
to prove the superiority of paper railway 
wheels over those of steel or wrought iron, 
and that the brake, however suddenly and 
sharply applied, does not injure them in the 
least. 

GEORGE W. QU1NTARD. 

One of the most prominent business men 
of New York City, whose record bespeaks 
an enterprise and genius remarkable, is 
George W. Quintard, born in Stamford, Con¬ 
necticut, on the 22 d of April, 1822 . His 
father, Isaac Quintard, and hrs ancestors, 
had resided in that towh for several genera¬ 
tions, and were distinguished for probity 
and intelligence. After receiving the usual 
education given in the public schools of the 
town, young Quintard, at the age of fifteen, 
followed the custom of most bright boys of 
Connecticut, and came in quest of fortune 
to New York. Finding employment in one 
of the leading houses in the grocery trade, 
ho followed that calling with industry and 
fidelity for five or six years, after which he 
started in business on his own account, in 
which ho continued four years. In 1847 
being then only twenty-five years old, he 
became one of the firm of T. F. Secor & Co. 
in the Morgan Iron Works of New York, 
and three years later, in 1850 , became a co- 
piopiietoi of that large establishment with 
Charles Morgan, whose daughter he married, 
and who then, as now, was one of the most 
I opulent ship-owners and merchants of the 
I cll Y- In 1852 > Mr. Quintard assumed the 
control, and from that time up to 1857 , with 
I the exception of two years, was the sole 


manager of the works, which, for the amount 
of business and high repute it bore, was 
second to no other similar manufacturing 
concern in the country. During the late 
war, Mr. Quintard enjoyed in the highest 
possible degree the confidence of the govern¬ 
ment at Washington. lie was often con¬ 
sulted in reference to the construction of 
steam vessels of war, and built and sold to 
the government a larger number of those 
vessels than was built by any other private 
establishment. So honorably conspicuous had 
become the reputation of the Morgan Iron 
Works, that when in 1863 the Italian gov¬ 
ernment determined to build two first-class 
frigates in this city, Mr. Quintard was se¬ 
lected to construct the engines for the Re 
d’ltalia. Between the }’ears 1861 and 1864 
Mr. Quintard built for the United States 
government the engines for twelve war 
steamers and for thirty-eight ocean steam¬ 
ers. Few men of his years have been par¬ 
ticipants in works of greater magnitude 
than Mr. Quintard, and few have been more 
active in institutions of practical benevo¬ 
lence, and his sterling qualities of head and 
heart, while they make him an example 
worthy of imitation, eminently fit him to be 
classed among the representative men of 
our day. In the pursuit of large and varied 
business interests his career has been with¬ 
out reproach, and he has never deviated 
from those principles of strict integrity 
which entered so largely into the elements 
of his character in early youth. 


WELL PUT. 

Tite New York Graphic says, “Many pa¬ 
pers are terribly alarmed lest silver is about 
to become so plenty that it will not be worth 
anything. The amount of silver mined an¬ 
nually is represented as ‘enormous.’ Let 
us go to the figures: There is, we will say, 
in round numbers, $ 6 , 000 , 000,000 worth of 
silver in the world; of this, $ 2 , 800 , 000,000 
worth—or nearly half—is in money. The 
annual product of silver, for the last twenty- 
eight years, has been only about $ 60 , 000,000 
a year. This is just one per cent, of the 
total amount on hand; and this can scarcely 
be thought too much to keep pace with the 
increase of population in the world, and to 
offset the constant wear and loss. Now look 
at gold. The total amount in the world is 
not far from $ 4 , 000 , 000,000 worth,—two- 
thirds as much as the silver in value. But 
during the last twenty-eight years the vast 
sum of $ 120 , 000,000 worth has been added 
to it annually, or three per cent, of the whole 
amount,—doubling it in thirty-three years! 
This shows that gold increases more than 
twice as fast as silver, and that it is silver, 
not gold, that is the conservative metal; and 
gold, not silver, that is feverish, capricious, 
and untrustworthy.” 



















PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


A SECRET. 

What bast been telling the birds, love? 

Their song lias been wondrously sweet, 
Since a year ago to-day, love, 

When thy heart I found at my feet. 

M hat hast been telling the flowers, love? 

A secret, deep and rare, 

Alone could make them smile, love, 

With a beauty so passing fair! 

What hast been telling the wind, love? 

Something—ah, thrillingly sweet! 

For it wandered straight to my ear, love, 
With its message glad and fleet. 

What hast been telling me, love? 

Can I tell? Shall I tell ? 

The wind, and the buds, and the flowers, love, 
Know full well! ah, full well! 


HOW A MAN TAKES CARE OF A BABY. 

First, he must have one to take care of. 
It isn’t every man, you know, that is fortu¬ 
nate enough to have one; and when he does, 
his wife is always wanting to run over to a 
neighbor’s only five minutes, and be has to 
attend the baby. Sometimes she caresses 
him, and often or she says, sternly, “John, 
take e;ood care of the child until I return.” 
You want to remonstrate, but cannot pluck 
up tbc courage while that awful female’s 
eye is upon you ; so you prudently refrain 
and merely remark, “Don’t stay long, my 
dear.” She is hardly out of sight before the 
luckless babe opens its ej-cs, and its mouth 
also, and emits a yell which causes the cat to 
bounce out of the door as if something had 
stung it. You timidly lift the cherub, and 
sing an operatic air; but he docs not appre¬ 
ciate it, and only yells the louder. You 
bribe him with a piece of sugar; not a bit 
of use, he spits it out and tries to put his 
foot into your mouth. You get wrathy and 
shake him. He stops a second, and you ven¬ 
ture another; when, good heavens! he sets 
up such a roar that the passers-by look up 
in astonishment. You feel desperate, your 
hair stands on end, and the perspiration 
oozes out of every pore, as the agonizing 
thought comes over you what if that luck¬ 
less child should have a fit! You try baby 
talk; but “ fifty—bitty lamby” has no effect, 
for he stretches as if a red-hot poker had 
been laid on his spine, and still he yells. 
You are afraid the neighborhood will be 
alarmed, and give him your gold watch as a 
last resort, just in time to save your whis¬ 
kers, though he throws down a handful of 
your cherished moustache to take the watch, 
and you thankfully find an easy-chair to rest 
your aching limbs, when down comes that 
costly watch on the floor, and the cause of 
all the trouble breaks into an ear-splitting 
roar, and you set your teeth and prepare to 


administer personal chastisement, when in 
rushes the happy woman known as your 
wife, snatches the long-suffering child from 
your willing arms, and sitting down, stills it 
by magic, while you gaze mournfully at the 
remains of your watch and cherished mous¬ 
tache, and muttering a malediction on baby- 
kind in general, and on the image of his 
father in particular, vow never to take care 
of a baby again—until the next time. 


POOR PAY, POOR PREACH. 

General Charles Scott, of the Revolu¬ 
tionary army, afterwards Governor of Ken¬ 
tucky, became a prisoner of war at the sur¬ 
render of Charleston, South Carolina, in 
1781 . His health became so bad that he 
obtained his parole; and having procured a 
horse and chair for himself and a horse and 
chair for his servant, put some provisions 
and a bottle of spirits into the chair-box (for 
there were few houses of accommodation on 
the road he was about to travel), the general 
was placed in bis small carriage, and set out 
for his native State, Virginia. 

On hjs march to Charleston, he acquired 
the knowledge of a remarkably cool spring, 
about twelve or fourteen miles from the city, 
encompassed b} T a fine shade, and not more 
than a hundred yards from the road. He 
ordered his servant to drive to the spot, 
which was soon found. As the general was 
so feeble that he could neither walk nor stand 
alone, his servant spread his cloak upon the 
grass, took him from his chair, and laid him 
down to rest. 

The British commander had sedulously 
prohibited all communications to the Amer¬ 
ican prisoners, either by letters or news¬ 
papers, in consequence of which it was ex¬ 
tremely difficult to learn what was going 
on. General Scott was desirous to know if 
the Americans had any force in the field in 
that quarter of the country, and, if so, to 
learn their strength and position. He or¬ 
dered his servant to keep a look-out, and if 
he saw any person passing along the road, 
to hail and ask him to come to the spring. 
After some time the servant remarked to the 
general that he saw a dirty-looking Indian 
coming up the road. “ Direct him to come 
here,” said the general. He did so, and 
something like the following dialogue en¬ 
sued : 

General—How do you do? 

Indian—Oh, how do? 

General— Where have you come from? 

Indian—From the lower Catawba town. 

General—Where are you going? 

Indian — To the upper Catawba town. 

General — What are you going there for? 

Indian—I am going to preach. 

General—Aye; so you preach, do you ? 

Indian— Oh, yes; me preach sometime. 


131 


General—Well, do they pay you anything 
for preaching? 

Indian—Yes; little—twenty shillings— 
each town pay me twenty. 

General—Why, that is very poor pay ! 

Indian—Aye—and very poor preach, too. 

The general was so pleased with the 
prompt and candid reply of the Indian, 
that lie burst into a fit of laughter, and for 
a Ions; time could not restrain himself. When 
he became composed, he discovered that he 
had got into a considerable perspiration, 
which he had not felt before since his sick¬ 
ness. The bottle of spirits had been put 
into the spring to cool; the provisions were 
taken out of the chair-box; the general and 
the Indian ate and drank together, and the 
general has been heard to declare that ho 
ate and drank with a better appetite than 
he had done since he had been a prisoner. 
He was helped into his chair again, pursued 
his journey, continued to improve in health, 
and when he arrived at his l’esidence, Peters¬ 
burg, he was perfectly restored to health. 

General Scott has often said that this ad¬ 
venture with the Indian saved his fife; the 
incident was so novel, and the acknowledg¬ 
ment of the Indian so simple and frank, it 
cheered him up, and the recollection of it 
caused him to laugh frequently as he trav¬ 
elled homeward, with gloomy thoughts, 
brooding over the misfortunes of the Ameri- 
can cause. It was the first time General 
Scott had ever heard the comparison, and he 
believed the present adage of “poor pay, 
poor preach,” had its origin in the manner 
here described. 


GIRLS’ ATTITUDE TO YOUNG MEN. 

There is a thing of which I want to 
speak, and that is of the behavior ot girls 
towards young men who are not lovers but 
simply friends. Bet me tell you plainly 
that our sex were not meant to be wooers. 
The custom prevalent among a certain class 
of young ladies of asking, directly or in¬ 
directly, the attentions of young gentlemen 
is not an admirable custom. “ My son.” said 
a lady to me, not long since, “ is much preju¬ 
diced against a young girl whom I admire, 
because she is constantly sending him notes 
inviting him to be her escort here and there, 
and planning to have him with her.” A 
modest and dignified reserve, which is 
neither prudery nor affectation, should dis¬ 
tinguish your manner to gentlemen. Too 
great a familiarity and too evident pleasure 
in the society of young men are errors into 
which no delicate and pure-minded girl 
should fall. 

A book that is full of plates is recom¬ 
mended as being of the right kind for the 
table. 












132 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


LOVE. 


FROM THE GERMAN. 

I ASKED tllO SU11, 

“Canst tell mo what love is?” 
lie answered only by a smile 
Of golden light. 

I prayed the flowers, 

“Oh, tell me what is love?” 

Only a fragrant sigh was wasted 
Thro’ the night. 

“ Is love the soul’s true life, 

Or is it but the sport 
Of idle summer hours?” I asked 
Of heaven above. 

In answer, God sent thee, 
Sweetheart, to me 1 
And I no longer question, 

“ What is love ?” 

— The Galaxy. 


THE DISGUISED LOVER. 

My dear Tom had a natural affection for 
dirt, or, rather, dirt had an affection for 
Tom. It is to him what gold was to Midas; 
whatever he touches turns to dirt. No 
matter how white the cravat, no matter 
how immaculate the vest, the moment it 
comes within the sphere of Tom’s influence 
its whiteness is gone; it is immaculate no 
longer. Dogs, sweeps, and lamplighters 
never pass him without leaving upon his 
breast unequivocal marks of their presence. 
Once—and once only—I saw him cross the 
street without encountering the wheels of 
a carriage. I opened my mouth to congrat¬ 
ulate, and before I could utter one word, it 
was filled w T ith mud. The careless blockhead 
lay at my feet, full length in the gutter. At 
my earnest solicitation he once purchased 
a suit precisely mud-color. It was a capital 
idea. lie crossed the street three times, he 
walked half a mile, and returned, in appear¬ 
ance at least, unscathed. The thing was 
unprecedented. True, he was welcomed by 
the affectionate caresses of a dog that had 
been enjoying the coolness of a neighboring 
horse-pond ; true, he received a shower-bath 
from the wheels of an omnibus! But to 
plaster mud on Tom’s new coat was “ to 
gild refined gold—to paint the lily,” I said, 
as I witnessed the success of my plan. 

In about half an hour it was my fate to 
meet a gentleman with seven stripes of green 
paint on his back. It was friend Tom; ho 
had been loaning against some newly-painted 
window-blind. 

llis man Caesar declares that he can’t see 
de use of brack a boot when lie never stay 
bracked ; and his washerwoman, with a 
proper regard for her own reputation, has 
been compelled to discard him, not from any 
ill-will, but, as she declared, with uplifted I 
hands, “ if any one should ask me if I washed 


Mr.Smith’s clothes, what could I tell them ? 
But there were very few things in this world 
with which Tom could have more easily dis¬ 
pensed than the services of his washerwoman. 

Having no other amusement, one morn¬ 
ing I strolled over to Tom’s room. As I as¬ 
cended the stairs I heard his voice in a very 
decided tone, “But it must bo done, and so 
there is an end to it.” 

“ Really,” was the reply, “ anything within 
the limits of possibility, but to make a coat 
in ten hours,—I will promise anything in the 
world, but I really fear I shall not be able to 
perform.” 

“If double your price would be any ob¬ 
ject-” 

“ Certainly, sir, if you insist upon it; cer¬ 
tainly. I will put every man in my shop 
upon it; it shall be done in time. Good¬ 
morning, sir.” 

The door opened, and a fellow with shears 
and measures passed out. What should Tom 
be doing with a tailor? 

“Just the man I wanted to see,” he ex¬ 
claimed. “I require j’our advice upon a very 
important affair. Which of these cravats do 
you think most becoming?” and he spread 
before me some half-dozen of every hue and 
fashion. 

“ Mow, what, in the name of all that’s 
wonderful, does this mean, Tom? A fancy 
ball, is it? You have chosen an excellent 
disguise ; your nearest friends will not know 
you. But you cannot support that character. 
If you had taken that of a chimney-sweep, 
now; but that would have been too natural. 
Tell me, truly, Tom—what does all this 
mean.” 

“Why, the fact is, Frank,” passing a hand 
through his hair, redolent of Macassar, “I 
have concluded—I think I shall be a little 
more neat in future. You doubtless re¬ 
member the good advice you gave me some 
time since; it has had an excellent effect, I 
assure you.” 

Mow, it so happened that, of all the good 
advice I had ever given Tom, this was the 
first instance in which he had seen fit to fol¬ 
low it. So I could not attribute the meta¬ 
morphosis of my friend to my eloquence. 
Who but a woman ever changed him from 
a sloven to a fop! 

“ Pray, where are you going this evening,” 
I continued, “that you must have a new 
coat so suddenly ?” 

“Going! Nowhere in particular. I had, 
indeed, some idea of calling on my old 
friend, Mr. Murray; no harm that, I hope.” 

Conviction began to flash upon me. 

“Your old friend, Mr. Murray! And his 
} oung niece, M iss Julia, has no share in your 
visit, I suppose. 1 heard that she arrived in 
town last night.” 

“ Now, upon my word, Frank, you mis¬ 
take me entirely—when I—that is, when I 
—I did not know anything about it.” 


“And so you were there last night, too! 
Really, this is getting along bravely!” 

“ Why, the fact is, Frank, you must know 
everything. I called last evening to see 
Murray on some business,—about that real 
estate, you know. I had no more idea of 
meeting a woman than a boa constrictor; 
my beard was three days old; my collar, 
ditto; and the rest of my dress in excellent 
keeping. I became engaged in conversation, 
and somehow or other I forgot all about the 
real estate.” 

“And so you are going again, to-night— 
and that is the secret of your new coat?” 

“ By no means ; I wanted a new coat, and 
tailors are always so long, you know. Do 
you think blue will become me? Blue is her 
favorite—that is—I mean blue.” 

“ Oh, go on ; don’t stammer—blue is her 
favorite color, is it?” 

“ The fact is, Frank—take another glass 
of this wine—the fact is, I suppose—I rather 
fancy—I am a little in love. Try some of 
that sherry. What are the symptoms, Frank, 
—queer feeling about the heart, and sorne- 
thiner which drives the blood through one 
like lightning?” 

“ Exactly ! I believe I have seen Julia,— 
short and chubby, isn’t she; with red hair, 
and a little squint-eyed?” 

“ Frank, I never did knock 3 t ou down, 
though I have been tempted to do so a great 
many times; but if you don’t stop your non¬ 
sense, I will.” 

“Quite valiant in defence of your lady¬ 
love ! Well, Tom, I will confess that she is a 
lovely girl, and to-morrow I will call and 
learn your success. So, good-morning.” 

IK******* 

“Well, Tom. what success?” 

“ Would you believe it! she did not rec¬ 
ognize me.” 

“Not recognize you ?” 

“No. You know what a quiz that Murray 
is. As soon as he saw me enter, dressed in 
such style, he came up, shook hands with 
mo, and, without giving me a chance to say 
a word, introduced me to Julia as Mr. Fred¬ 
erick Somebody. And, would you believe it! 
the witch did not know me. I think I should 
not forget her so easily. Nor was that all. 
Murray said something about the fellow 
who called the previous evening,—a country 
cousin, ho said ; clever enough, but an incor¬ 
rigible sloven. And Julia said he dressed 
like a barbarian. Just think of that, Frank 
—a barbarian ! She shall pay for that, yet. 
Such eyes—and she steps like a queen. \\ ell, 
Frank, a clean collar does make a vast dif¬ 
ference in a man’s appearance. Lovely as 
Hebe herself! Terrible difference clean 
linen makes.” 

The last time I saw Tom, ho was scolding 
his eldest son for coining into the drawing¬ 
room with muddy boots. 













PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


133 


GRANDMOTHERS. 

There is a great difference between grand¬ 
mothers of to-day and those of thirty years 
ago. Then grandmother was a quiet old 
lady, slightly rheumatic, if not more so; 
much given to snuff and the pipe, simple in 
tastes, and altogether homo and knitting- 
work like. Her dress must he comfortable, 
with plenty of cloth taken in at the seams, 
and a tuck or two above the hem, to allow 
for making over. She had one little vanity, 
and that was her cap, which must be snowy 
white, with a proper nice frill about the 
face. In those days grandmother’s silks, 
satins, laces, and jewelry were relics of 
younger days, upon which her grandchildren 
delighted to feast their eyes and imagine 
the wrinkles all smoothed away from her 
withered face, and grandame dressed up for 
the ball where she first captured grandfather. 

Grandmother’s heart Avas set on things 
above and beyond this tinsel and varnish of 
earth which tarnisheth in an hour. With 
eyes ever heavenward, she strived so to live 
that she might soon reap the reward of the 
faithful worker through the long day, unto 
the sunset, in the vineyard of life. 

Dear blessed grandmothers of those days, 
the car of change has moved on and on 
since the green grass Avaved over your 
graves, and it is avcII the dead return not 
again to flesh, for noAA r there is no place 
for you. The grandmother nowadays is 
another sort of creature altogether. Her 
sphere is in active busy life. To her the 
comforting old clay pipe is a total stranger. 
A flirtation or negotiation for second mar- 
riage would be more in her line. Sewing for 
the poor societies, church fund associations, 
orphan schools, education of negroes, evening 
schools for the working classes—all these 
engross her time and attention. 

She Avears the rich dresses, laces, and 
diamonds, while the young ones wait for 
their splurge in the good time coming, the 
order of things being thus reversed since 
“ lang syne.” But the missos do not Avait 
long, for girls become women of responsi¬ 
bility, mothers, and grandmothers in an 
astonishing few years. Married at fifteen ; 
many younger. Daughter at sixteen, Avho 
grows up, marries, and has a baby at sixteen 
or seventeen, making grandmother of a fine 
elegant woman of thirty-three or four years, 
just in her prime. Not quite an appropriate 
figure for a snug corner at home, smoking, 
knitting, or darning stockings, telling of the 
long ago when she Avas a girl,—only a carica¬ 
ture of the real old-time grandmother. A 
few veterans are lagging behind, living 
beyond the allotted threescore and ten, 
stray landmarks which the storms of a few 
more seasons av i 11 fully erase. Then the 
new grandmother av i 11 be thoroughly in¬ 
augurated, a settled testimony of the fast 
age in Avhich we live. 


LITTLE BY LITTLE. 

Ip you are gaining little by little, every 
day, be content. Are your expenses less 
than your income, so that, though it be 
little, you are y-ct constantly accumulating 
and grow richer and richer every day ? Be 
content; so far as concerns money, you are 
doing well. 

Are you gaining knowledge every day? 
Though it be little by little, the aggregate 
of the accumulation, where no day is per¬ 
mitted to pass without adding something to 
the stock, Avill be surprising to yourself. 

Solomon did not become the wisest man 
in the world in a minute. Little by little— 
never omitting to learn something, eA ? en for 
a single day—always reading, always study¬ 
ing a little betAveen the time of rising up in 
the morning and lying down at night; this 
is the way to accumulate a full storehouse 
of knowledge. Finally, are you daily im¬ 
proving in character? Be not discouraged 
because it is little by little. The best men 
fall far short of what they themselves Avould 
wish to be. It is something, it is much, if 
y-ou keep good resolutions better to-day than 
you did yesterday, better this week than 
you did last, better this y-ear than you did 
last 3 T ear. Strive to be perfect, but do not 
become downhearted so long as 3'ou arc 
approaching nearer and nearer to the high 
standard at which 3’ou aim. 

Little by little fortunes are accumulated; 
little by little, knoAvledge is gained; little by 
little, character and reputation are achieved. 


A PERFECT MISER. 

“ A miser, sir; a miser! It is bad enough 
to see an old man avaricious and saving, but 
in a man of Stephen Bascomb’s age it is sim¬ 
ply contemptible!” 

The old lawyer who spoke was one who had 
known Stephen Bascomb from a bo3 T , and he 
looked his indignation as plainly as he spoke 
it. His companion, an old friend he had 
met at Long Branch, had commented upon 
the A-ery- cheap apparel of the 3 T oung man so 
severely criticised. Now he spoke again. 

“ But is he as wealthy as they sa3’ ?” 

“ He inherits half a million under the will 
of his uncle, Charles Bascomb. I dreAV up 
the will m3 r self, and more than that, I man¬ 
age the estate. With such a fortune at his 
command, Stephen Bascomb lives in half a 
room in a small boarding-house, Avears the 
cheapest apparel to be found in New York, 
and hoards his money. I put it in the bank 
when I collect his rents and interests, and 
there it lies. I hate such a niggardly spirit.” 

“ But he comes to Long Branch.” 

“That’s the odd part of it. He haunts 
the best societ3', and the best socict3’ courts 
him, knowing his real wealth, and attribut¬ 


ing his manners to eccentricity. Eccentric¬ 
ity! Rubbish!” 

“ I like him, for all,” said Mr. Russell, the 
companion of the old law3'cr, Judge Ellerton. 

“ I like him.” 

“Of course you do,” snapped the judge; 
“everybody does. He is the very soul of 
honor, a man of undoubted talent, brilliant 
in conA-ersation, and a perfect gentleman. 
Before his uncle died heAvas one of the most 
fastidious and elegant men I CA-er knew. 
Now look at him!” 

Mr. Russell looked. He saAv, leaning 
against the pillar of the porch, a tall, hand¬ 
some man of twenty-five, with an ill-fitting 
suit of coarse material, gloveless, with clean 
but cheap linen, and a common straw hat. 
And yet a man Avho carried his head erect 
and looked at the world from a pair of large 
brown C3 r es that Avore the fearless, honest 
look of a man Avho carried an eas3 r conscience. 

As these same eyes looked out over the 
groups upon the beach they suddenly lighted 
with a flash of radiant pleasure, then shaded 
gravely until they expressed only- a proud 
sadness, Mr. Russell, following his glance, 
found it rested upon his own niece,—his 
pride, his darling Edna. She was coming 
towards the porch, but Avas still at some 
distance. 

“Ellerton,” he said, suddenly, “have y-ou 
no reason to ascribe Stephen Bascomb’s 
eccentricity, as 3-011 call it, to any other 
cause than a mean, avaricious spirit?” 

The old lawyer looked keenly into the 
face of bis friend. 

“ An odd question,” he said, gravely. 

“ But one I hope 3-011 will answer. You 
know liOAv dear Edna is to me, and 3-011 may 
have seen she accepts Stephen Bascomb’s 
attentions with pleasure. He has spoken 
no Avord y-et to bind her to him, and y-et he 
loves her. Would 3-011 give a daughter of 
your OAvn into his keeping?” 

“ A 3-ear ago I would have said 3-cs, with 
all my heart. But uoav, since his uncle 
died—he has so changed—and 3 - et-” 

“ There, there, tell me what I knoAV is 
near 3'our lips. Is it all meanness, or is 
there some other motive ?” 

“ In Charles Bascomb’s Avill there was a 
sealed letter for his nephoAv, to be delivered 
after the Avill Avas read. I delivered it. 
What it contained I never kneAv.” 

“ H’m ! It’s a queer Avorld !” 

Stephen Bascomb thought it Avas a queer 
world, too, as he sauntered into the hotel 
just as Edna Russell reached the porch steps. 
He srav the look of pained surprise in her 
e3'es, and 3-ct he Avcnt from her, though his 
heart went out to her with all its burden of 
love. In his OAvn room he took from his 
bosom a sealed letter, broke the confining 
AA - ax, and read it sloAvlr. 

“Only- this to burn,” I10 thought, “and 
love, wealth, and happiness are mine. 1 














134 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


have searched faithfully. But my time of 
probation is only commenced. If Edna knew 
—she shall know. Sho shall at least know 
how I love her!” 

Full of his new resolution, Stephen Bas- 
comb once more sought the porch, where 
Edna still lingered by her uncle’s side. She 
was a lovely girl of about nineteen, with 
violet eyes, and auburn hair that clustered 
in sunny ringlets above a low brow. With¬ 
out startling beauty, her face was winsome, 
and it had charmed Stephen Bascomb from 
the first hour that his eyes rested upon it. 

The afternoon sun was creeping to the 
wide porch, and most of the guests of the 
hotel were enjoying a nap before the even¬ 
ing should call them out of their rooms in 
all the glories of full dross. Edna herself 
was thinking of going up-stairs when Stephen 
joined her uncle. 

There was an earnestness that was almost 
solemnity in the young man’s face as ho 
came forward, and his words were scarcely 
lover-like, though they made Edna’s heart 
throb with agitation. 

“Will you grant mo an interview in your 
private parlor, Mr. Russell?” he said, “and 
will Miss Edna join us? I wish to speak 
to you both before I leave for Saratoga.” 

Wondering, Edna obej’ed, leaning upon 
her uncle’s arm, but upon Mr. Russell’s face 
there was a strange, tender smile, as if he 
was scarcely surprised at the summons. 
Once seated in the small private parlor, 
Stephen Bascomb, in manly, straightfor¬ 
ward words, told his love-story, but lie kept 
his eyes resolutely from Edna’s face, asking 
no answer to his confession. 

“ I should do wrong to ask for a return of 
love,” he said, steadily, “ unless I told you ex¬ 
actly how I am situated. The world believes 
me a rich man; I know myself a pauper. 
The fortune my uncle left me I hold in trust 
for—his daughter. 

“ True, I never heard of his marriage until 
I read the letter he left for me in his will. 
When he was a young man, not twenty, he 
married a West India heiress, a girl of six¬ 
teen, eloping with her. At Key West, where 
the young couple were hiding for about three 
months, they were found at last by the bride’s 
father, who took her home and obtained a 
legal separation, on the grounds that both 
bride and groom were under age. 

“ Still, my uncle hovered about the house, 
and saw his wife, as he still considered her, 
often, but secretly, until his child was born. 
Then the father carried both mother and 
child to Europe, leaving my uncle in igno¬ 
rance of their departure. For } r ears he vainly 
tried to find some clew to his wife’s where¬ 
abouts, and his own conviction of her faith¬ 
ful love, his adherence to the perfect legality 
of the marriage, kepfrhim from ever taking 
another woman to his heart and home. And 
he loved mo very dearly, and trusted me im¬ 


plicitly; so, by his will, he has left me his 
heir, while, by a letter of trust, lie charges 
me to seek his wife and child and, il I find 
them, transfer the property, to which they 
arc entitled, to them.” 

“Only a letter of trust!” said Mr. Russell, 
slowly; “ then you arc not bound in any 
way.” 

“Only by my honor, sir,” was the quiet 
reply. 

But the old gentleman understood, in the 
glance and the tone, how firmly this bond 
held Stephen Bascomb. 

“And what clews have you by which to 
trace this visionary couple? Is your whole 
life to be spent in this quest?” 

“No. If in ten years they are not found, 
I am to consider myself my uncle’s heir. 
In the mean time I spend from the income 
of his estate only what is necessary for my 
search. Judging from probabilities that the 
widow and daughter are people of fashion 
and standing, I have commenced my search 
at the watering-places, where so many West 
Indians are found every summer.” 

“ H’m, yes. How will you know them if 
you find them?” 

“The mother’s maiden name was Ri- 
onda—” 

Edna started, while her face grew deadly 
pale, but Stephen did not sec her agitation 
as he continued,— 

“I do not think my uncle know how his 
child was named, but Miss Rionda’s name 
was Natalie. In the letter was enclosed a 
ring sot with diamonds and rubies, two 
hearts held by a circlet of diamonds. If I 
find my uncle’s wife she will have a com¬ 
panion ring.” 

“ Edna,” said Mr. Russell, very quietly, 
“will you get me your mother’s ring?” 

The young gfrl, pale to her lips, glided 
away to the next room, and Mr. Russell said 
gravely, 

“Stephen Bascomb, you did well to give 
me your confidence to prove to me that an 
honorable man loves my niece. Were you 
a pauper, I would be a proud man to call 
you my son. I am Natalie Rionda’s step¬ 
brother. Iler mother was my mother, 
though my father died when I was a child. 
My mother married Hernandez Rionda, a 
wealthy West India sugar-planter, but when 
Natalie was but ten years of age, our mother 
died. I was then at Harvard College, and I 
never returned to Cuba after my mother’s 
death. It was not until my step-sister died, 
in Paris, some six years ago, that I heard 
from her the story of her marriage. Her¬ 
nandez Rionda died a poor man, and Natalie 
sent for me, begging my protection for her 
child. I need not tell you how very dear 
Edna soon became to me; and my own 
wealth was sufficient to make me indepen¬ 
dent of her father’s assistance. Natalie 
never blamed her husband; and, like him¬ 


self, considered her marriage a sacred tie, 
binding them for life. She suffered persecu¬ 
tion at her father’s hands because she refused 
to accept offers from others who believed 
her a widow.” 

“Then it is to Edna I am to transfer the 
property I hold in trust,” said Stephen, 
eagerly. 

“No. You are to hold it. Destroy that 
letter, or give it to me.” 

Stephen silently handed the letter to the 
old gentleman. Very carefully he read it 
through, then struck a match and burned it 
in the empty, open grate. 

“So ends that chapter,” he said. “You 
love Edna. The property in your hands 
becomes hers, in a measure, as your wife, 
and can be willed to her as your widow, 
and no questions will be asked. But if 
you transfer it to her, do you not see that 
this whole miserable story will be made 
public talk, will be twisted and distorted, 
and Edna’s name bandied about on the 
tongue of every gossip? 

“I have no fear. Here comes Edna, and 
here is Natalie’s ring. Put it on your finger, 
Edna, and wear it as your mother wore it, 
as a token of undying love. Stephen has 
the companion.” 

“Here!” said Stephen, taking the glitter¬ 
ing jewel from bis pocket-book and slipping 
it on her finger. 

“ May your love have no cloud—no separa¬ 
tion,” said Mr. Russell, solemnly, leaving the 
room as he spoke, while Edna crept into her 
lover’s outstretched arms. 

Judge Ellerton never exactly understood 
the sudden change in his wealthy young 
client, but he willingly obeyed his letter, 
bidding him to re-open Charles Bascomb’s 
splendid house, and fit it up for the return 
of the bridal couple, after their extended 
wedding tour in the fall. But he shakes 
his head gravely when his old friend Russell 
asks him about the avarice and miserly 
habits of his new nephew, and says, sagely,— 

“lie fell in love, Russell! His affection 
for his uncle’s money gave way before his 
love for your pretty niece, and her smiles 
worked a cure. But it is none the less true 
that for more than a year after he became 
sole heir to a half-million of money, Stephen 
Bascomb was a perfect miser—a perfect 
miser!” 

And John Russell shakes his head, points 
to Edna in her splendid home, with every 
luxury at her command, and refuses to be¬ 
lieve any such scandalous accusations against 
that prince of liberality, his nephew, Stephen 
Bascomb. 


M hen you have nothing to say, say 
nothing. A weak defence strengthens your 
opponent, and silence is less injurious than 
a poor reply. 






















PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


THE DEBT TO MOTHER. 

Mothers live for their children, make 
self-sacrifices for them, and manifest their 
tenderness and love so freely, that the 
name mother is the sweetest in the human 
language. And yet sons, youthful and 
aged, know but little of the anxiety, the 
nights of sleepless and painful solicitude 
which their mothers have spent over their 
thoughtless waywardness. Those loving 
hearts go down to their graves with those 
hours of secret agony untold. As the 
mother watches by night, or prays in the 
privacy of her closet, she weighs well the 
words which she will address to her son in 
order to lead him to a manhood of honor 
and usefulness. She will not tell him all the 
griefs and deadly fears which beset her soul. 
She warns him with trembling lest she say 
overmuch. She tries to charm him with 
cheery love while her heart is bleeding. No 
worthy and successful man ever yet knew 
the breadth and depth of the great obliga¬ 
tion which he is under to the mother who 
guided his heedless steps when his character 
for virtue and purity was so narrowly bal¬ 
anced against a course of vice and ignominy. 
Let the dutiful son do his utmost to smooth 
his mother’s pathway, let him obey as im¬ 
plicitly as he can her wishes and advice, 
let him omit nothing that will contribute to 
her peace, rest, and happiness, and yet he 
will part from her at the tomb with the 
debt to her not half discharged. 


DON’TS FOR HUSBANDS. 

Don’t think when you have won a wife 
that you have won also a slave. 

Don’t think that your wife has less feel¬ 
ing than your sweetheart. Her relationship 
to you is simply changed, not her natui-c. 

Don’t think that you can dispense with 
all the little civilities of life towards her you 
marry. She appreciates those things quite 
as much as other women. 

Don’t bo gruff and rude at home. Had 
you been that sort of a fellow before mar¬ 
riage, the probabilities are you would be 
sowing on your own buttons still. 

Don’t make your wife feel that she is an 
incumbrance on 3 011 by giving grudgingly. 
What she needs give cheerfully, as if it were 
a pleasure so to do. She will feel better, and 
so will you. 

Don’t meddle in affairs of the house under 
her charge. You have no more right to be 
poking your nose into the kitchen than she 
has to walk into your place of business, and 
give directions to your employes. 

Don’t find fault with her extravagance in 
ribbons, etc., until you have shut down on 
cigars, tobacco, whiskey, etc. 

Don’t leave your wife at home to nurse 
the children, on the score of economy, while 


you bolt down-town at nights to see the 
show, or spend a dollar on billiards. 

Don’t bolt your supper and hurry off 
to spend your evenings lounging around 
away from your wife. Before marriage you 
couldn’t spend evenings enough with her. 

Don’t prowl in the loafing resorts till 
midnight, wasting your time in culpable 
idleness, leaving your wife lonely at home 
to brood over your neglect and her disap¬ 
pointment. , 

Don’t think the woman 3*011 promised to 
“ love, cherish, and protect” becomes 3’our 
servant as her part of the contract. 

Don’t think that board and clothes is a 
sufficient return for all a wife does for you. 

Don’t expect 3*0111- wife to love and honor 
you if 3*ou prove a brute unworthy of love 
and honor. 

Don’t caress 3*0111- wife in public and snarl 
and growl at her in private. This proves 
3*ou both a li3 T pocrite and a dog. 

Don’t wonder that 3*0111- wife is not as 
cheerful as she used to be, when she labors 
from earl3* morn till late at night to pander 
to the comfort and caprice of a selfish pig 
who has not soul enough to appreciate her. 

Don’t, if 3*0111- wife has faults, be con¬ 
stant^* reminding her of them, while 3*011 
have never a word of commendation for her 
virtues. If she did that with 3*011, 3*ou’d be 
as mad as a hornet. 

Don’t expect 3*0111- wife to have no fail¬ 
ings. Not to have is not to be human ; and 
you thought 3*011 were mariying a woman 
when 3-011 married her. She thought she 
married a man, and don’t deceive her. 


SENTENCED TO MATRIMONY. 

An English justice sentenced a couple to 
matrimoiy under circumstances which seem 
legal^* just, although legally curious. A 
3’oung man and a 3’oung woman were con¬ 
testing possession of a piece of property, the 
one claiming under an old lease, the other 
under an old will. 

“It just strikes me,” said the justice, 
“ that there is a pleasant and easy way to 
terminate the old lawsuit. The plaintiff 
appears to be a respectable young man, and 
this is a very nice young woman. (Laugh¬ 
ter.) They can both get married and live 
happil3* on the farm. If the3* go on with law 
proceedings, it will he all frittered away be¬ 
tween the Umyers, who, I am sure, are not 
ungallant enough to wish the marriage not 
to come off.” 

The lady flushed, and the 3’oung man 
stammered thc3* “liked each other a little 
bit,” so a verdict was entered for the plain¬ 
tiff on condition of his promise to marry the 
defendant within two months, a stay of exe¬ 
cution being put to the verdict till the mar¬ 
riage ceremony should be completed. 


135 


WOMEN A3 SHOPPERS. 

The man who dogmatically asserts that 
men are better shoppers than women has 
had very little experience among the sex. 
We refer now to what is technically known 
as “ shopping,” and not to those large trans¬ 
fers which are a part of merchandise busi¬ 
ness. Occasional^*, indeed, one meets a man 
who possesses all the adroitness and aplomb 
of a woman in the small niceties of shop¬ 
ping, but as a rule men fail in this respect, 
and to the woman are relegated those little 
arts by which cheap purchases are realized. 
Women have no shame in the matter of 
cheapening an article. The3* have no con¬ 
science in the trouble tbe3 T give a clerk or 
saleswoman. The3* have no reserve in ex¬ 
pressing their dislike for this and their con¬ 
tempt for that, and their sex protects them 
from the retribution which, in some form or 
other, would be sure to await the male 
shopper who thus conducted himself. Never¬ 
theless, woman is a very useful friend and 
ally when 3*011 want a large variety of small 
purchases made. Her patience and perse¬ 
verance never fail. She treads street after 
street and store after store, and will either 
find the desired article or die in the attempt. 
Perhaps this interesting fact has never been 
more clearly demonstrated than during the 
present season, when the shops are crowded 
with tempting goods, and women have ob¬ 
tained from their husbands and fathers the 
last possible penny. 


AGREEABLE PEOPLE. 

People who are easil3* pleased, and require 
little to amuse them, are generally consid¬ 
ered thoroughly agreeable b3* all with whom 
the3* come in contact. Pleasant folks are 
they who always feel pleased with the com¬ 
pany the3* are in, and rather to seem well 
entertained than to give entertainment. A 
man thus disposed perhaps may not have 
much learning or any wit; but if he has 
common sense, and something friendly in his 
behavior, it conciliates men’s minds more 
than the brightest talents without this dis¬ 
position ; and when a man of such a turn 
comes to old age, he is almost sure to be 
treated with respect. It is true, indeed, that 
we should not dissemble and flatter in com¬ 
pany ; but a man 11013* * )0 very agreeable, 
strictly consistent with truth and sincerity, 
113* a prudent silence where he cannot con¬ 
cur, and a pleasing assent where he can. 
Now and then 3*011 meet with a person so 
exacts formed to please that lie will gain 
upon every one that hears or beholds him. 
This disposition is not merely the gift of 
nature, but frequently the effect of much 
knowledge of the world, and a thorough 
command over passion and prejudice. 











136 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


FOOD FOR THOUGHT. 

Life is the art of being well deceived. 

Gold that is put to use more gold begets. 

Always contradict ill report with personal 
merit. 

God lias commanded time to console the 
unhappy. 

Common sense is nature’s gift, but reason 
is an art. 

Be charitable and indulgent to every one 
but yourself. 

Childhood shows the man as morning 
shows the day. 

Faithfulness and sincerity are the highest 
things.— Confucius. 

When shall we have a rich man who will 
also be great?— Demorest Lloyd. 

lie that lags behind in a road where 
many are driving, always will be in a cloud 
of dust. 

Pride and weakness arc Siamese twins, 
knit together by the indissoluble hyphen.— 
Lowell. 

We should accustom the mind to keep the 
best company by introducing it only to the' 
best books. 

Learn to sleep with one e}’e open. As 
soon as the chickens go to roost it is a good 
time for the fox. 

Perseverance will obtain good cabbage 
and lettuce where otherwise nothing but 
thistles will grow. 

When a man has not a good reason for 
doing a thing, he has one good reason for 
letting it alone.— Walter Scott. 

The wish of most people is for a fortune 
and nothing to do. How fully men arc 
punished when it is realized. 

Energy and power result from a ceaseless 
looking forward in the hope of making to¬ 
morrow better than to-day. 

Women never have a complete severity of 
demeanor except towards those whom they 
dislike.— La Rochefoucauld. 

Why do people write that they “accept 
with pleasure” an invitation, when they 
really mean they do so with reluctance? 

Blessed is he who learns to profit by bis 
wants arifl infirmities, and who, in all his 
privations, is still submissive to the will of 
God. 

Many of us spend our youth in letting 
down empty buckets into empty wells, and 
fritter away our age in trying to draw them 
up again. 

Be ever ready to forgive. “Remember 
bo who refuses forgiveness breaks the bridge 
over which he must pass, for all need for¬ 
giveness.” 

The greatest heresy that can deceive the 
human mind is the heresy that makes a man 


believe he can meet with mercy while he 
lives in sin. 

For myself, I have appetites that are 
higher than my mouth. Every love, every 
heroic or noble feeling, and spiritual force 
become appetites. 

The opinions of the misanthropical rest 
upon this very partial basis: that they adopt 
the bad faith of a few as evidence of the 
worthlessness of all.— Bovee. 

When Father Taylor, of Boston, broke his 
arm, he came into the pulpit and said, 
“Thank God, I still have one arm with 
which to work my way to heaven.” 

Wise men mingle mirth with their cares, 
as a help either to forget or overcome them ; 
but to resort to intoxication for tbe ease of 
one’s mind is to cure melancholy by mad¬ 
ness. 

Folly soon wears her shoes out. She 
dances so fast we are all of us tired. Golden 
wires may annoy us as much as steel bars, 
if they keep us behind prison windows.— 
Owen Meredith. 

Every heavy burden of sorrow seems like 
a stone hung around our neck, yet they are 
often like the stones used by the pearl-divers, 
which enable them to reach the prize and to 
rise enriched. 

The quiet self-possession and unaffected 
courtesy of a lady or gentleman will set at 
ease the most diffident, but there are others 
who claim to be ladies and gentlemen who 
have a contrary effect. 

We certainly ought not to treat living 
creatures like shoes or household goods, 
which, when worn out with use, we throw 
away; and were it only to teach benevolence 
to human kind, we should be merciful to 
other creatures.— Pythagoras. 

There would not be any absolute necessity 
for reserve if the world were honest; yet 
even then it would prove expedient. For, • 
in order to attain any degree of deference, it 
seems necessary that people should imagine 
that you have more accomplishments than 
you discover. 

The moment we quit the path of prudence, 
and become unable to use our judgment, our 
passions hurry us headlong; human weak¬ 
ness seeks its relief in yielding to their force; 
and insensibly we find ourselves launched on 
the wide deep, destitute of rudder and tackle, 
and the sport of every wave. 

It is not possible to be regarded with ten¬ 
derness but by few. The merit which gives 
greatness and renown diffuses its influences 
to a wide compass, but acts weakly on every 
single breast; it is placed at a distance from 
common spectators, and shines like one of 
the remote stars, of which the light reaches 
us, but not the heat. 

If we pity the good and weak man who 
suffers undeservedly, let. us deal very gently 


with him from whom misery extorts not only 
tears but shame — let us think humbly and 
charitably of the human nature that suffers 
so sadly and falls so low. Whose turn may 
it be to-morrow? What weak heart, confi¬ 
dent before trial, may not succumb under 
temptation invincible? 

Charles Kingsley, when at Cambridge, an¬ 
swered the requirement, “ Describe a pump,” 
in one of his examination papers, by draw¬ 
ing a grand village pump in the midst of a 
broad green, with the village beadle presid¬ 
ing over it, and the villagers of all ages, and 
with all kinds of vessels, coming for water. 
Around the pump, however, was a huge 
chain,padlocked, and with the legend, “This 
pump locked during divine service.” It is 
not known what marks the answer got, but 
the sketch was so clever that the moderator 
of the year had it framed and hung on the 
wall of his room. 


DOMESTIC LIFE OF THE PRESIDENTS. 

Washington was married, but had no 
children. Adams was married and had one 
son, whom he lived to see President. Jeffer¬ 
son was a widower; his wife died twenty 
years before his election. They bad six chil¬ 
dren, all daughters, of whom only two sur¬ 
vived infancy. Madison was married, but 
had no children. His wife was the most 
elegant woman that ever adorned the presi¬ 
dential mansion. She survived him, and was 
for many years the pride of Washington 
society, having lived to listen to Henry 
Clay’s farewell speech in the Senate. Mon- 
i’oe was married, and so was John Quincy 
Adams. Jackson was a widower, and so 
were Van Buren and Harrison. Tyler was a 
widower when he entered office, but soon 
afterwards married the heiress, Miss Gardi¬ 
ner, of New York. He was the only presi¬ 
dent that married during his term of office. 
Polk was a married man, and his wife sur¬ 
vived him a number of years. General 
Taylor was a widower. Pierce was a mar¬ 
ried man, but Buchanan was a bachelor. The 
circumstances of the domestic life of such 
men as Lincoln, Johnson, and Grant need no 
reference, except to add that Grant is the 
first President who had a daughter married 
while in office. 


Kindnf.ss. —Would you have influence 
with those who look to you for guidance 
and instruction? Bear with you the law of 
kindness. Would you command their re¬ 
spect? Let your words, though they may 
inflict pain for the time, drop kindly from 
your lips. 

A noble heart, like the sun, shows its 
greatest countenance in its lowest estate. 













7 





PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


137 


[Prom Sharpe’s London Magazine.] 


THE LAST WORD OF THE SINGER.* 

“ It is a singular event,” said Counsellor 
Bolnau, to an acquaintance whom he met on 

the High-street of the town of 13 _• “ it 

is clear wo live in evil times.” 

“ ^ on mean the history in the north,” 
replied the other. “ Have you, then, com¬ 
mercial news? lias the minister of foreign 
affairs, for the sake of old friendship, told 
you some of the particulars ?” 

“ Ah ! politics and state papers are nothing 
to me; as far as I am concerned things may 
go as they will. No, I mean the story of 
Bianetti.” 

“ I he singer ? IIow, is she again engaged ? 
It was said the conductor of the orchestra 
had quarrelled with her.” 

At this the counsellor of the board of 
trade drew himself up in astonishment, and 
exclaimed, “In what cavern do you live, 
that you know not what goes on in the 
town ? So, then, you know nothing of what 
has happened to Bianetti ?” 

“Not a word, upon my honor; what is 
the matter?” 

“ Well, nothing more is the matter but 
that yesterday evening she was stabbed by 
some villain, and is now dying.” 

The counsellor passed among his ac¬ 
quaintances as a wag, who, when he took 
his morning walk on the High-street, be¬ 
tween eleven and twelve, liked to entertain 
people with anything which chanced to hit 
his fancy. His friend, therefore, was not 
much affected b} r this frightful piece of news, 
and only answered,— 

“ Is it possible that you know nothing 
more than this to-day, Bolnau? You must 
indeed be at your wit’s end when you lay 
on the colors so strongly. When you again 
meet me in the street, do think of something 
more reasonable; otherwise I shall be com¬ 
pelled to make a circuit as I go home from 
the chancery office, in order to keep out of 
your way.” 

“So you don’t believe it!” exclaimed the 
counsellor; “you don’t believe it! Had I 
told you that the Emperor of Morocco was 
killed, then you would have pocketed the 
news with thanks, and asked for more, be¬ 
cause you know that there such sort of 
things happen. But when a singer here in 
B-has been wounded, and perhaps mur¬ 

dered, no one will believe it until he secs the 
funeral procession. However, friend, this 
time it is true,— as true as I am an honest 
man.” 

“Sir! consider what you are saying,” re¬ 
plied the other, with horror. “Did you say 
Bianetti was really murdered?” 

“ She certainly was not dead an hour ago, 
but she lies in the last agonies; so much is 
certain.” 


* From the German of Wilhelm Ilauff. 


“ tell me, for heaven’s sake, how 
could any one murder a singer? Do we live 
in Italy? Ot what use is our much-extolled 
police? How did it happen? Assassinated? 
Impossible!” 

“ Do not cry out so murderously,” an¬ 
swered Bolnau, soothingly; “the people are 
already putting their heads out at the win¬ 
dows to see what all the noise is about. You 
may lament however, sotto voce , as much as 
you please. How did it happen ? Ah, that 
is the matter; but as yet not a soul knows. 
Yesterday evening the pretty child was at 
the masquerade, as amiable and charming as 
ever, and at midnight the physician Lange 
was called out of bed with these words: 

‘ Signora Bianetti is dying; she has been 
stabbed to the heart.’ The whole town 
speaks of it, of course, but speaks the great¬ 
est nonsense. The unfortunate circumstance 
is, that no one can get at the real truth; no 
one is permitted to be in the house but the 
physician and the persons who wait on 
Bianetti. It is known even at court, and 
an order was given that the guards were 
not to pass the house; the whole battalion 
was obliged to make a circuit, and go through 
the market-place.” 

“Shocking news, indeed! but does no one 
know how it happened ? has no one the least 
clew ?” 

“It is difficult, in the midst of the various 
reports, to get at the truth. Bianetti, it 
must be granted, is a most respectable per¬ 
son, with whose conduct none can find the 
smallest fault. Yet now the people, and es¬ 
pecially the women, Avhen the good conduct 
of the poor girl is spoken of, shrug their 
shoulders, and insist on knowing- everything 
of her earlier life. Of her early life! she is 
scarcely seventeen, and has already been 
here half a year. Poor child ! what do they 
call her early life?” 

“ Do not dwell so long on the preface, but 
come at once to the point,” interrupted the 
other. “ Does no one know who committed 
the deed ?” 

“ That is precisely what I wish to know. 
It is said a rejected or jealous lover has 
killed her. Indeed, the circumstances are 
absolutely singular. It is likewise reported 
that she spoke last night a considerable 
time to a person in a mask whom no one 
knew, and some persons say they saw the 
same mask get into her carriage. Nothing 
further is known as certain, but I shall soon 
get at the bottom of the affair.” 

“I know you have your own private 
channels of news, and no doubt you have 
some serviceable spirit in the house of Bia¬ 
netti, who can inform you of what goes on. 
There are people who call you ‘the chronicle 
of the town.’ ” 

“Too much honor! too much honor!” 
smiled the counsellor, yet appearing some¬ 
what flattered. “This time, however, I 


have no other spy but the doctor himself. 
You must have observed that I do not, ac¬ 
cording to my usual custom, walk up and 
down the whole length of the street, but 
that I keep between Charles Street and 
Frederick Street. Dr. Lange comes every 
day about twelve o’clock through this street 
on his way to the palace, and I stand here 
on the watch, just to catch him as he turns 
the corner.” 

“Then I shall remain likewise,” said the 
friend, “with your permission, for I must 
hear exactly all the story about Bianetti.” 

“Worthy sir, do not so inconvenience 
yourself,” replied the other. “I know you 
dine at twelve, and do not let the soup get 
cold. Besides, Lange may not be inclined 
to speak out before you; come rather after 
dinner to the coffee-house; there you shall 
hear everything. Now you had better go, 
for here comes the doctor round the corner.” 

“I do not consider the wound absolutely 
mortal,” said the physician Lange, after the 
first greeting. “ The thrust appears not to 
have been surely given. She is again quite 
restored to consciousness, and, except from 
the weakness caused by so much loss of 
blood, there is, at least for the present, no 
danger to be apprehended.” 

“Iam delighted to hear that,” answered 
the counsellor, slipping his arm confidentially 
into the doctor’s. “I shall accompany you 
a few streets until you reach the palace. 
But tell mo, for heaven’s sake, the particu¬ 
lars of this matter: we cannot at all under¬ 
stand how it could have happened.” 

“ I confess to you there is a strange mvs- 
tery in the affair. I had scarcely fallen 
asleep, when Johann awakened me with the 
news that a person dangerously ill desired 
to see me. I threw on my clothes, ran out, 
and in the passage there stood a girl, pale 
and trembling, who whispered so low that I 
could scarcely hear her, that I must bring 
my materials for bandages, etc., with me. 
This rather astonished me; I leaped into 
the carriage, made the pale damsel sit beside 
Johann on the box, in order to show him 
the place, and away we went to the Linden- 
hof. I got out before the entrance of a 
small house, and asked the girl who the sick 
person was.” 

“I can readily imagine your astonish¬ 
ment—” 

“Astonishment, indeed, when I heard in 
answer, ‘It is the Signora Bianetti!’ I 
know her only, it is true, by having seen 
her at the concerts; T scarcely ever had seen 
her more than thrice; but the mysterious 
manner in which I had been called to her, 
the dressings for a wound which 1 had been 
requested to bring with me; altogether, I 
must own I was most anxious to learn what 
could have befallen the famed singer. A 
few steps led me to the entrance hall. The 
girl went in first, let me wait a few minutes 


18 
















138 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. 


GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL JOURNAL 


in the dark, and then returned, sobbing and 
paler than ever. ‘ Step in, doctor; step in,’ 
said she ; ‘ but I fear you are come too late ; 
the signora cannot live.’—I entered ; it was 
a fearful sight.” 

The doctor stopped short; looked thought¬ 
ful and sad; a vision seemed to come before 
him, from which he appeared in vain to be 
able to free himself. 

“ Well, what did you see?” cried his com¬ 
panion, impatient at the interruption. “ Do 
not keep me in suspense in this way.” 

“I have met with much in my life¬ 
time,” began again the doctor, after com¬ 
posing himself; “much which has made 
me shudder, much which has horrified mo, 
but never anything which so affected mo 
as that sight. In a small, dimly-lighted 
apartment lay a young woman on a sofa, 
pale as death. Beforo her knelt an old ser¬ 
vant, who pressed a cloth upon her heart. 
I stepped nearer. White and rigid as a 
statue, the head of the dying one lay back, 
—the jet-black hair falling down in tresses: 
the dark-brown eyelashes of the shut eyes 
formed a strange contrast to the dazzling 
whiteness of the forehead, the face, and the 
beautiful neck. The snowy drapery richly 
folded, which doubtless was the dress she 
wore when at the performance, was marked 
with crimson streaks which seemed to have 
come from the heart. All this in an instant 
showed me it was Bianetti the singer. The 
old servant removed the handkerchief, and 
I saw with surprise a wound as if from a 
poniard, very near the heart. This was 
not a time to ask questions, though many 
were on the tip of my tongue. I examined 
the wound, and applied the bandages. My 
patient during the whole operation showed 
no sign of life, except shrinking with pain 
when I probed the wound. I then let her 
rest, and watched her sleep.” 

“But the girl and the old servant;—did 
you not ask them how it happened ?” 

“ I will own to you, counsellor, as you are 
my old friend, that when I saw nothing 
more could be done for the lady, I most 
plainly told them that unless they explained 
everything to me I would not move another 
step in the matter.” 

“ And what did they say ? Do tell me.” 

“About eleven o’clock the singer had re¬ 
turned home, but accompanied by a tall 
man in a mask. I must have looked rather 
suspiciously at both women when they said 
this; for they again began to weep, and to 
assure me with the most solemn protesta¬ 
tions that 1 must think nothing evil of their 
mistress; they had served her now for a 
long time, and she had never permitted any 
gentleman to cross the threshold except 
during the day. The younger one, who 
must have read many novels and romances 
maintained that the signora was an angel of 
innocence.” 


“ That I likewise affirm,” said the worthy 
counsellor; “no one can speak evil of Bia¬ 
netti. She is a gentle, good child, and how 
can she help that she is beautiful, and must 

earn her bread by singing?” 

“Believe me,” replied Lange, “in this the 
physician has an unerring psychological 
measuring rod. One glance at the puic 








me more of her goodness than all the assev¬ 
erations of her waiting women. But hcai 
the rest. The young lady came with the 
stranger into the apartment, and bade her 
maid withdraw. The damsel, however, 
lingered near the door,—from curiosity, 
doubtless, at the unusual occurrence of such 
a late visitor. She heard a vehement ex¬ 
change of words between her mistress and 
the deep hollow voice of the man, carried on 
in French. The signora at last burst into 
tears, wept bitterly, and the man used shock¬ 
ing oaths. Suddenly she heard her lady 
scream, and, no longer able to contain her¬ 
self, she rushed into the room, while at the 
same moment the stranger flew past her 
into the passage and towards the steps. 
She followed him a few paces, heard a terri¬ 
ble noise as if he had fallen, and believes he 
must have tumbled down-stairs in his haste. 
She then heard as if from the bottom of the 
staircase a groaning and sighing like some 
one in pain; but she was afraid, and ven¬ 
tured no farther. She came back,—ran to 
the signora, whom she found bathed in 
blood, with her eyes shut. The girl knew 
not well what to do; however, she awoke 
the old servant to watch beside her mistress, 
while she came to me, in order, if possible, 
still to save the signora.” 

“And did Bianetti herself say nothing? 
Did you not interrogate her?” 

“I went instantly to the police, aroused 
the inspector, and even then at midnight, 
every inn, every beer-shop, every corner of 
the town was searched; no one had passed 
through any of the gates; and, since that, 
every person has been strictly examined. 
The people who live in the upper part of the 
house first knew of the accident when the 
police came to search the place. It was in¬ 
comprehensible how r the murderer could get 
away, for he must have been much hurt by 
his fall, as a quantity of blood was seen at 
the bottom of the stairs, and it is not at all 
unlikely that in falling he had wounded him¬ 
self with his dagger. It is the more sur¬ 
prising how ho could have escaped, as the 
house-door was ' locked. Bianetti awoke 
about ten o’clock next morning, and, in the 
report to the director of the police, said that 
she was utterly ignorant of who the person 
was, and could not give the slightest infor¬ 
mation. All the surgeons and physicians 
have received orders that if they should be 
called to any person who has been injured 
by a fall, or by a wound from a dagger, no- 


ticc should immediately be given, so that, if 
possible, the murderer may be traced in this 
way. Thus the matter stands. However 
I am as thoroughly convinced as I am of 
my existence, that a deep mystery hangs 
over the affair, which the singer will not 
unfold. Bianetti is not the person who would 
permit any one perfectly unknown to her to 
accompany her home. Her waiting-maid, 
who was present at the examination when 
the report was given to the police director, 
thinks so likewise. When she saw her mis¬ 
tress wished nothing to be known, she said 
not a word about the quarrelling she had 
heard, and gave me an imploring look not to 
betray her. ‘ It- is a horrible affair,’ she said, 
as she accompanied me afterwards to the 
door; ‘ but nothing on earth shall tempt me 
to reveal what the signora wishes to remain 
concealed.’ She, however, confessed one cir¬ 
cumstance to me which may be the means 
of throwing some light on the matter.” 

“ Well, and may I not be made acquainted 
with this circumstance also ?” asked the coun¬ 
sellor. “ Aon see in what a state of anxiety 
I am ; do not, for heaven’s sake, keep me in 
suspense, or I shall be certain of another fit 
of illness.” 

“ Listen then, Bolnau ; collect your senses, 
and tell me, does any other Bolnau live in 
this town except yourself? If another ex¬ 
ists in the world, can you tell me where?” 

“ With the exception of myself, not one in 
this town,” answered Bolnau. “When I 
came here eight years ago, I was thankful 
that I was not called Black, White, or 
Brown, not Meyer, Miller, or Bauer, for in 
that case all manner of unpleasant confu¬ 
sions might have happened. At Cassel I 
was the only man of the family, and now 
there is no longer a Bolnau on the face of 
the earth except my son, that music-mad 
fool, who, since he sailed to America, has 
left us uncertain whether he be dead or 
alive. But why do you ask me about my 
name, doctor?” 

“ Well, it cannot be the counsellor, and his 
son is in America. It is now a quarter past 
twelve, the Princess Sophia is ill, and I 
have already talked too long, so adieu: an 
revoir!" 

“ Mot a step,” cried Bolnau, holding him 
firmly by the arm, “ not a step until you tell 
me what it was the girl told you.” 

“Well, if you must have it, Bolnau, keep 
it quiet. The last word of the signora, be¬ 
fore she fell into that faint, was Bolnau /” 

Counsellor Bolnau had never been seen to 
walk along with such a sad and earnest face 
as on that day when Dr. Lange had left him 
before the palace. Formerly he had been 
accustomed to step on briskly and merrily 
greeting all the ladies he met, old and young, 
with the most friendly smiles, laughing vvith 
his acquaintances of the other sex, telling 
them all manner of news, so that few uould 














139 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


have thought he was a man of sixty. He 
seemed, likewise, to be in possession of every 
comfort; had amassed by speculation a toler¬ 
able sum of money; and now, satisfied with 

his fortune, ho lived in tho town of B- 

with his wife, contented and free from care. 
The only drawback to his comfort was a 
nervous disorder, which now and then 
attacked him. Year after year passed away 
happily and pleasantly. He had an only 
son, whom the old gentleman had destined 
to run the same business career as himself. 
The son, however, only lived and moved in 
the kingdom of sound; music to him was 
everything, and the trade and commerce of 
his father he despised as low and vulgar. 
The father was of an obstinate disposition, 
so was the son ; the father was easily excited, 
so was the youth ; the father carried every¬ 
thing to its extreme, so did the son : thus it 
may be easily conceived that it was impos¬ 
sible for them to live with each other. 
When tho son had reached his twentieth 
year, his father was fifty, and he wished now 
to retire from business, give it up to his son, 
and live in quietness anti peace. All, indeed, 
was soon peaceful enough ; for, one fine sum¬ 
mer evening, the son, along with some pieces 
of music, disappeared, and was no longer to 
be found. He had arrived safely in England, 
however, and afterwards he wrote a friendly 
epistle to his father, saying that he was 
going to America. The counsellor wished 
him a happy journey, and retired to B-. 

Thoughts, however, of the music-mad fool, 
as he called his son, now and then oppressed 
him ; for he had commanded the latter never 
again to appear before him, and of course it 
was not to be expected that he would return 
uncalled for. Indeed, at times, the old gen¬ 
tleman fancied that ho had done wrong in 
wishing to compel his son to devote himself 
to business. But time, society, and a cheer¬ 
ful disposition did not permit these reflec¬ 
tions to rest long in his mind. He lived 
happily and pleasantly, and those who 
wished to see him in all his glory had only 
to walk, between eleven and twelve o’clock, 

along tho broad street of B-. If they 

met there a tall, thin man, whose neat dress, 
eyeglass, riding whip, and whole outward 
bearing seemed but ill to agree with his gray 
hairs, who was seen greeting almost every 
one in passing, chattering with much ges¬ 
ticulation now to this one, now to that, they 
mi<rht rest assured that this was Bolnau. 

O 

The worthy counsellor was in short one of 
the characters of the good town of B-. 

But to-day all was changed. The sad 
story of Bianetti had affected him almost too 
deeply, and the last words of the doctor had 
completely unhinged him. “ Bolnau,” Bian¬ 
etti had uttered, just before she became 
unconscious! His own honorable name she 
had mentioned under such suspicious and 
dangerous circumstances! 11 is knees trem- j 


bled, his limbs seemed scarcely able to sup¬ 
port him, his head sunk heavily and thought¬ 
fully on his breast. 

“Bolnau!” he ejaculated; “counsellor of 
his majesty’s board of trade! What if the 
singer should die? if the waiting-maid 
should unfold what she knows, and make 
the inspector of the police acquainted with 
all the particulars of the murder, and with 
that ominous word ? What might a skilful 
advocate not make out of one single word ? 
especially when his vanity would be stimu¬ 
lated in showing his acuteness in such a 
'■cause celebre ?’” Ho eyed, with a most 
despairing look, the house of correction, 
whose gable was seen in the distance. “ In 
that place, Bolnau! by special favor, and in 
consideration of so many years’ service.” 

When an acquaintance passed and nodded 
to him, he instantly thought, “Ah! he 
already knows about the matter, and gives 
mo to understand as much.” If another 
passed without gi’eeting him, nothing ap¬ 
peared more certain than that he did so 
intentionally, to avoid coming in contact 
with a supposed assassin. “ Little is want¬ 
ing,” he thought to himself, “to bring me in 
guilty of murder!” It was therefore no 
wonder that he made a long circuit in order 
to avoid the office of tho police; for might 
the inspector not be standing at the window, 
see him, and call out, “Worthy sir, will 
you have the kindness to walk in for a few 
minutes? I have something to say to you.” 
Was he not aware of a certain shuddering? 
Did he not feel as if his features were assum¬ 
ing the expression of a poor criminal, lest it 
should be believed that it was he whom the 
singer with her last word had accused? 

It now occurred to him how injurious such 
excitement was to his constitution ; he an¬ 
ticipated a fresh attack of his disorder; 
agonizingly he looked for panes of glass to 
divert his mind, and to calm himself by 
counting them; but houses and streets all 
danced before him, the very steeples seemed 
to bend mockingly towards him, a delirious 
terror seized him, he ran through the town, 
until, exhausted, he sank down in his own 
house, and the first question, after he had in 
some measure recovered, was whether there 
had not.been a police officer asking for him? 

Towards evening, when Dr. Lange visited 
his patient, he found her much better than 
he had anticipated. He seated himself h} r 
her bedside and entered into conversation 
about the unhappy accident. The signora 
rested her arm on the pillow, while her deli¬ 
cately-formed hand supported her beautiful 
head. Her countenance was still very pale, 
hut even the exhaustion of her strength 
seemed to lend an additional charm. Her 
dark eye had lost nothing of that fire, of 
that peculiar expression, which had attracted j 
and interested the physician when he first 
saw her in public. Although Dr. Lange was 


a man of grave habits, and past the ago 
when imagination lends its aid to our admi¬ 
ration of the beautiful, he nevertheless con¬ 
fessed that such a finely-formed head, such 
a lovely countenance, he had seldom if ever 
beheld. The features were far from regular, 
yet over the whole there was such harmo¬ 
nious grace and repose as almost puzzled the 
good doctor to account for. But his psycho¬ 
logical studies eventually solved the riddle. 
It was that purity of mind, that nobleness 
of nature, which shed over those youthful 
features such spiritual brilliancy and loveli¬ 
ness. 

“You appear to be studying my counte¬ 
nance, doctor,” said Bianetti, smiling. “ You 
sit looking at me, so quiet and thoughtful, 
that you forget what I asked you. Or is 
the answer too unpleasant, you think, for 
me to hear? May I not be made aware of 
what is said about this accident?” 

“ Of what benefit could it be were you to 
know all the foolish conjectures which idle 
people first invent, and then repeat? I have 
just been thinking how distinctly your soul 
is imaged in your countenance. You have 
oeace in yourself; why, then, should you 
trouble yourself about the opinion of others?’ 

“You evade my question,” she replied, 
“and seek to escape from it by compliment¬ 
ing me. Should I not be anxious about the 
opinion of the public? What right-minded 
young girl ought thus to place herself be¬ 
yond the opinion of society, and be quite 
indifferent to what may be said of her? Or 
perhaps you think,” added she, more earn¬ 
estly, “I should ask nothing about it, be¬ 
cause I belong to a class who are but little 
esteemed ? Confess to me, then, that you 
believe me to be light-minded.” 

“No, certainly not,” replied Lange. “I 
have never heard anything but what is good 
of you, Mademoiselle Bianetti. and of your 
quiet, retired manner of living; you are 
much respected, although you are so isolated, 
and exposed to so many cabals. But why 
will you know precisely what people say, 
when I, as your physician, do not think such 
news at all good for you?” 

“ I pray you, doctor, do not torture me,” 
she exclaimed. “ I read plainly in your eyes 
that evil is said of me. Why will 3 - ou keep 
me in suspense, which is more dangerous 
than even the truth itself?” 

This last reason tho doctor found undeni¬ 
able ; during his absence, might not some 
loquacious lady come in and repeat things 
much more annoying than he could sa}'? 

“ You know the peoplo here,” he answered. 
“ The town is tolerably large; but a piece 
of news of this kind shows how very village¬ 
like ouv citizens can gossip. It is true you 
arc the topic of conversation; this cannot 
surprise you; and, as nothing certain is 
known, then—then—all manner of strange 
tales are invented. For example, it is re- 




















140 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 


ported that the person in the mask, who was 
seen speaking with you at the masquerade, 
and who, without doubt, is the same who 
committed the deed, is a-” 

“ Well, do speak out,” entreated the sig¬ 
nora, in the greatest anxiety; “finish the 
sentence.” 

“It is said he was a former acquaintance, 
who had loved you elsewhere under other 
circumstances, and who, out of jealousy, 
sought to kill you.” 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, while tears came 
into her eyes, “ how hard is the lot of a poor 
girl who is without defence and support! 
But speak on, doctor, I beseech you; there 
is still something behind, which you do not 
tell me. In what town do the people sa}’ 
I—” 

“Signora, I thought you had been strong¬ 
er,” said Lange, grieved at the excitement 
of his patient. “Indeed, I now repent of 
having said so much. I never would have 
done so, had I not feared that others, un¬ 
asked, might have come and repeated these 
idle stories.” 

The signora quickly dried her tears. 

“ I will be calm,” she said, smiling sorrow¬ 
fully, “ calm as a child in repose ; nay, I will 
be cheerful, as if these people, instead of now 
condemning me, were showering upon me a 
thousand bravos. Only tell me the rest, 
dear, kind doctor!” 

“Well, the people speak stuff,” continued 
the doctor, in a tone of vexation. “It is 
said that, when you lately played in Othello, 
there was a foreign count in one of the front 
boxes, who claimed acquaintance with you, 
and who had seen you some years ago in a 
certain house in Paris. But—bless me ! you 
become paler and paler!” 

“ It is nothing; merely the shadow of the 
lamp. Go on—go on.” 

“This tale at first was reported only in 
the higher circles, but now it has become 
quite public; and, since this accident has 
happened, the two things are put together,— 
the former connection in that wretched 
house in Paris, and the present catastrophe.” 

During this speech the most deadly pale¬ 
ness and the deepest crimson passed alter¬ 
nately over the expressive features of Bia- 
netti. She had raised herself higher, as if 
not to lose a word of the horrid recital. 
Her burning eye seemed to fix itself on the 
lips of the speaker; she scarcely breathed; 
the beating of her heart was arrested. 

“Now it is over,” she said, raising her 
eyes with a sweet expression towards heaven. 
“ Now it is ended ; should he hear this it will 
be too much for him. Ah, wherefore did I 
not die yesterday? then should I have been 
in heaven with my dear parents, and their 
child would have been comforted for the 
scorn of this cruel world.” 

The doctor, astonished at these mysterious 
words, was trying to soothe and console her, 


when the door of the room was thrown open 
with much noise, and a tall young man en¬ 
tered. Ilis face'was strikingly handsome, 
but a wild haughtiness darkened his features, 
his eyes rolled, and his hair hung carelessly 
over his brows. He had a roll of music- 
paper in his hand, which he waved back¬ 
wards and forwards before he found breath 
to speak. When the signora perceived him 
she uttered a loud cry, which the doctor at 
first thought was from pain, but soon saw it 
was from joy, for a beautiful smile lighted 
up her countenance. 

“ Carlo!” she exclaimed, “ Carlo! at last 
you have come to see me!” 

“Wretched one!” replied the young man, 
stretching his arm majestically towards her, 
and flourishing the roll of music, “cease thy 
siren song—I come to judge thee!” 

“Oh, Carlo!” said the signora, interrupt¬ 
ing him, in tones soft and touching as the 
breathings of a flute, “ how can you thus 
speak to your Giuseppa ?” 

The youth was on the point of replying, 
when the doctor, dreading the effect of such 
a scene on his patient, threw himself before 
him. 

“Worthy Master Carlo,” be began,—at 
the same time offering him his snuff-box,— 
“ have the kindness to remember that Mad¬ 
emoiselle is in a state of health which renders 
such scenes far too exciting for her weak 
nerves.” 

The young man looked haughtily at the 
speaker, and pointed the roll of music towards 
him, exclaiming, with a deep, threatening 
voice,— 

“ Who art thou, earthworm, who darest 
thus to come between me and my wrath ?” 

“ I am the physician Lange,” answered 
the other, calmly, shutting the lid of his snuff¬ 
box; “and in my title of ‘ Medieinalrath’ * 
I find nothing synonymous with an earth¬ 
worm. I am master here as long as the 
signora is ill, and I tell you cither to take 
your departure, or to modulate your presto 
assai to a reasonable larghetto.” 

“Oh! let him remain, doctor,” cried Bi- 
anetti, in accents of agony. “Let him re¬ 
main, do not irritate him. He is 1113' friend. 
Carlo will do me no harm, although wicked 
men have spoken to him against me.” 

“Ila! so thou still dost venture to trifle 
with me ! But know, a flash of lightning 
has burst open the door of this mystery, and 
has illuminated the dark night in which 1 
wandered. Therefore was I not to be told 
from whence thou earnest, and what thou 
wert! For this thou didst shut my lips 
with thy kisses, when I asked about thy 
life ! I Qol that I am ! to have been charmed 
by the voice of a woman, in which there is 
nothing but deception and lies ! Only in the 
voice of man is there truth and virtue. Alas ! 

'' A title given to certain physicians. 


JOURNAL. 


alas! how could I thus be deluded by the 
roulades of a-” 

“Oh, Carlo!” whispered the poor girl, “if 
you onl)- knew how your words pierce my 
heart, how your horrible suspicions penetrate 
more deeply than the steel of the assassin !” 

“ Truly, it was quite right, sweet inno¬ 
cent,” exclaimed the other, with a fearful 
laugh, “that thy lover should be blinded, in 
order that thou mightst treat him as it 
pleased thee! That Parisian, however, must 
be a clever fellow, that he after all found his 
gentle dove.” 

“ This is going too far, sir,” cried the doc¬ 
tor, taking hold of the madman: “walk 
instantly out of this room, else I shall call 
the people of the house to hasten thy exit.” 

“ I am going, I am going,” screamed the 
madman, pushing the doctor back, who 
luckily fell into an arm-chair behind him. 
“AMs, Giuseppa, I go, nevermore to return. 
Live a better life, or rather die an unhappy 
one, and bide thy shame in the grave; and 
in that other world hide thy soul where I 
may never meet it, for in this world thou hast 
shamefully cheated me out of my love and of 
mj r life.” 

lie uttered these words, waving, at the 
same time, the roll he held in his hand; but 
his wild, restless c} T e filled with tears as he 
threw a last look towards Giuseppa, and 
rushed, sobbing, out of the apartment. 

“Run after him; bring him back,” cried 
the signora; “ my peace of mind depends 
upon it!” 

“ B3 7 no means,” replied the doctor, rising 
from the arm-chair; “ this scene must not be 
repeated. I shall prescribe a soothing mix¬ 
ture, of w'bich you will take two spoonfuls 
every hour.” 

The unhappy Bianetti bad sunk back on 
her pillow, her strength was utterly ex¬ 
hausted, and she again lost all consciousness. 
The doctor called in the waiting-maid, en¬ 
deavoring, with her aid, to restore her mis¬ 
tress to life; 3 r et be could not refrain, while 
pouring out some essence, from scolding the 
servant well. 

“ Have I not commanded 3-011 most strictly 
to permit no one, no person whatever, to 
come in? And 3’et you admitted this mad¬ 
man, who has almost a second time killed 
3 7 our good signora.” 

“ I have certainty let in no one else,” said 
the girl, weeping; “ but him I could not 
refuse. M3 7 lad3 r sent me three times to- 
da3 r to his house, to entreat him to come, 
were it only for a few moments: indeed, I 
was obliged to sa3 T she was d}dng, and that 
she wished to see him once more beiore her 
death.” 

“ Indeed? And who is, then, this--” 

The signora opened her eyes. She looked 
now at the doctor, now at the servant, and 
then her 03-08 wandered, scarchingty, round 
the room. 
















0~w 



r 





141 


PRESIDENT JAMES 


A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


“ lie is gone, forever gone,” she sadly 
whispered. ‘‘Ah ! dear doctor, go to Bolnau.” 

“How? What can you want with the 
unfortunate counsellor? He has suffered 
enough already on your account, since he is 
obliged to keep his bed: how can he help 
you ?” • 

“1 have made a mistake,” replied Bianetti; 
“you must go to the foreign leader of the 
orchestra; he is called Boloni, and lodges at 
the Hotel de Portugal.” 

“ I remember I have heard of that person,” 
said the doctor; “ but what am I to do, or to 
say to him ?” 

“ Say to him, I wish to tell him everything 
— that he must come once more; but no, I 

cannot tell him myself. Doctor, if you- 

yes, I have confidence in you, to you I will tell 
all, and then you can repeat it to Boloni: 
will that not do ?” 

“ I am at your command,” answered the 
doctor; “whatever I can do to promote 
your happiness shall most gladly be done.” 

“Well, come early to-morrow morning; 
to-day I cannot speak more. Farewell, then 
—yet stay one moment; Babette, give the 
doctor his pocket-handkerchief.” 

The girl opened a drawer, and handed to 
the doctor a yellow silk handkerchief, which 
perfumed the whole apartment with a rich 
scent. 

“This is not my handkerchief,” said Dr. 
Lange; “you are mistaken,—I have lost 
none.” 

“It must be yours,” said the waiting- 
maid, “ for we found it last night on the 
floor; it belongs to no one in the house, and 
there was no other person here except you.” 

The doctor met the look of the singer, 
which rested on him in expectation of his 
answer. 

“ Might this handkerchief not belong to 
some other person?” he asked, looking stead- 
fastty at her. 

“ Show it to me,” she said, anxiously. “ I 
never thought of that.” 

She examined the handkerchief, and found 
in the corner some initials entwined: she 
turned pale, and trembled. 

“It appears you know this handkerchief, 
and the person who has lost it,” continued 
Lange. “It may lead to something; may I 
take it with me? may I make use of it for 
that purpose ?” 

There seemed to be a struggle in the mind 
of Giuseppa. She reached out the handker¬ 
chief, then again drew it convulsively back. 

“ Be it so,” she at length said; “ and 
though that wretched one should come 
again, and strike my wounded heart more 
surely a second time, yet I will venture it. 
Take it, doctor. To-morrow you shall have 
some elucidation of this matter.” 

One may easily suppose how exclusively 
this sad event occupied the mind of Dr. 
Lange. His extensive practice became as 


burthensome to him, for the time, as it had 
formerly been a pleasure; for did not the 
numerous visits which he had to make before 
seeing the signora again prevent him from 
being with her at an early hour, to hear her 
details, and the explanation for which he 
was so impatient? Yet, as he had to visit 
at least thirty or forty different places, where 
he was sure of meeting with many persons, 
he thought to himself that he might as well 
listen to what was going on, as his patients 
and others would, of course, be making re¬ 
marks about the Italian singer, and the 
events that had happened; he might like¬ 
wise be able to gain some information about 
her friend, the director of the choir. 

When the singer was spoken of, people 
shrugged their shoulders^ and were more se¬ 
vere in their judgments, in proportion to the 
disappointment they felt that nothing official 
or certain was yet known. Her rivals—and 
what distinguished vocalist, should she also 
be beautiful, and only eighteen, has not 
many?—her rivals made the most malicious 
remarks. The more temperate said, “So it 
is with such persons; this could not have 
happened to a German girl.” Her friends 
pitied her, and were almost more afraid of 
her fame than of her health. “Poor girl!” 
thought Lange, and determined the more 
resolutely to serve her. 

Little, either good or bad, was known of 

the choir-master. He had come to B-— 

about three-quarters of a year ago, had hired 
a small room in the Hotel de Portugal, and 
lived quietly and frugally. He seemed to 
maintain himself by giving lessons in sing¬ 
ing, and by musical compositions. Every 
one, however, had remarked in him an ap¬ 
pearance of reserve, and something of eccen¬ 
tricity. Those who knew him better found 
him very interesting; and several amateurs 
in music had ordered a knife and fork to be 
laid at the supper table of the Hotel de Por¬ 
tugal, merely to enjoy his brilliant conversa¬ 
tion on their favorite art. But even they 
admitted that there was some mystery about 
Boloni; for he slighted, nay, almost scorned 
the other sex, and often spoke with bitter- 
ness of their falsehood and wickedness. He 
seemed, however, to have no intimate friend 
or acquaintance, and no one spoke as if 
aware of his intimacy with the Signora 
Bianetti. 

Counsellor Bolnau found himself still very 
ill, and kept his bed; be was sadly dejected, 
and spoke, with an uncertain and hoarse 
voice, all manner of nonsense about things 
with which certainly he had nothing in the 
world to do. He had an old collection of 
celebrated trials, which he most assiduously 
studied. Madame Bolnau asserted that he 
pored over this book half the night, every 
now and then moaning and bewailing pite¬ 
ously. 11 is reading was especially confined 
to those cases where the innocent had been 


condemned to death ; and he expressed to 
Dr. Lange the comfort which every friend 
of humanity must find in the tediousness of 
German jurisprudence; for it might be hoped 
that when a process had continued for ten 
or more years, the innocence of the accused 
might be brought to light, which could not 
happen when a man was tried to-day and 
hanged to-morrow. 

Bianetti, for whom the doctor had at last 
saved an hour, looked gloomy and sad, as if 
for her there was no longer hope on earth. 
Her eyes were dim; she had wept much, 
and though the wound was, beyond all ex¬ 
pectation, better, yet, with the i*cturn of her 
bodily health, the quiet and calmness of her 
mind seemed to have fled. 

“1 have been thinking much, dear doctor,” 
she began, “and I find that you, in a singu¬ 
lar manner, have become interwoven with 
my fate. Until now I knew you not, indeed 
I was ignorant that such a person as Mediei- 

nalrath Lange existed in B-. How, when 

I have met with this unhappy accident, God 
has mercifully sent me, in you, a sympathiz¬ 
ing and fatherly friend.” 

“Signora Bianetti,” replied Lange, “the 
physician has more to do by many a bed 
than to feel the pulse, bind up wounds, or 
prescribe mixtures. Believe me, when we 
thus sit alone with the sick—when we hear 
the inner pulse of the soul restlessly beating 
—when there are wounds to be healed which 
no one sees—then, in a singular manner, tbo 
doctor becomes the friend, and the mysteri¬ 
ous connection between body and soul be¬ 
comes strikingly apparent.” 

“ It does, indeed,” said Giuseppa, taking 
his hand; “and thus my mind also has found 
succor. Perhaps you will have much to do 
for me; you may have even to appeal to the 
courts of justice in my name. If you will 
promise to make this sacrifice for a poor girl 
who has no other protector, I will then re¬ 
veal everything to 3-011.” 

“I promise to do so,” said the good doctor, 
pressing her hand kindly. 

“But consider well: the world has at¬ 
tacked my reputation, has accused me, 
judged me, and condemned me. Should 
people point the finger of scorn at you be¬ 
cause you have befriended the notorious 
singer—the vile Italian—because 3-011 have 
defended me ,—ah ! can 3-011 bear all this?” 

“ I can,” exclaimed the doctor, earnestlv. 
and with vehemence. “Now let me hear 
your tale.” 

“My father was called Antonio Bianetti, 
and was a distinguished violin-player, who, 
in 3-our earlier 3’ears, may have been known 
to you, for his fame was spread abroad 
everywhere, by the concerts ho gave, both 
at the different courts in the capitals and 
in the smaller cities. I can still remember 
when, in 1113- childhood, he played to mo 
1 La Seala,’ which I sang after him, though 























142 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 


a mere child of t hree years. My mother was 
likewise in her day a celebrated vocalist, and 
sang arias and canzonets at the concerts 
given by my father. I was four years old 
when my lather died, while on one of his 
journeys, and left us in poverty. In order 
to support her family, my mother was 
obliged to sing. She afterwards married a 
musician, who flattered her greatly at first, 
but by degrees showed her that he had mar¬ 
ried her only to profit by her rich voice, 
lie became the music director in a small 
town in Alsace, and there our sufferings 
commenced in reality. My mother had three 
children, and lost her voice so much that 
now she was almost unable to sing a note. 
In consequence of this, the source of my 
step-father’s great wealth was dried up; for 
his concerts had become brilliant, and were 
attended chiefly through the attraction of 
my mother’s talents. From that time ho 
treated her most cruelly, and went so far as 
scarcely to allow me my food, until he fell 
upon a plan of making me of service to him. 
He tormented me for whole days, by making 
me practise the most difficult compositions of 
Mozart, Gluck, Rossini, and Spontini, which 
in the evenings I sang with great applause 
in public. The poor Schepperl—for which 
they changed my name Giuseppa—was one 
of those unfortunate prodigies to whom na¬ 
ture seemed to have given talents only for 
their unhappiness. The cruel man made me 
sing the whole day, beat me if I refused, and 
gave me nothing to eat when I did not sing 
to his mind, or made a false intonation. My 
mother was unable any longer to witness my 
misery: her life seemed to fade away in her 
silent tears; and one lovely morning in 
spring we found her dead. She was an ex¬ 
cellent mother, who constant^* taught me 
the lessons of piety and virtue. Peace be 
with her! IIow can I relate to you those 
years of martyrdom which now commenced ? 
I was eleven 3*ears old, had to take care of 
the house, educate my sisters, and besides, 
to practise pieces for the concerts. Oh, it 
was fearful torture! 

“About this time a gentleman came often 
to our house, who always brought to m3' 
father, a bag of five-franc pieces. I cannot 
think of him without shuddering. He was 
a tall, thin man, of middle age, with small, 
twinkling gray eyes, which gave him a dis¬ 
agreeable expression, and a piercing glance 
be}*ond that of any other person I had over 
seen. He appeared to have taken a peculiar 
fancy to me. When he came he praised 
m3' appearance, my manner, and my voice. 
He seated me on his knee, though an in¬ 
voluntary shudder made me avoid him; 
he caressed me in spite of my dislike, and 
said, well pleased, ‘In two or three years, 
Schepperl, you will go out!’ Then he 
and my stop-father broke out into a loud 
laugh. 


“ On my fifteenth birthday, my step-father 
said to me,— 

“ ‘ Listen, Schepperl. You have nothing, 
3 r ou arc nothing, I give 3 r ou nothing, and 1 
want nothing from } t ou ; I have quite enough 
to do with 1113' other three children. Cbris- 
tel is now the wonder, instead of 3 r ou. 4 \ hat 
you have—your scrap of singing—you have 
from me, and by that you must bring your¬ 
self forward. Your uncle in Paris, from 
kindness, will receive 3*011 into his house.’ 

“‘My uncle in Paris!’ I exclaimed, in as¬ 
tonishment, for until now I had never heard 
of him. 


“‘ Yes, 3*0111’ uncle in Paris,’ he answered ; 
‘we expect him here every day.’ 

“You may imagine how delighted I was. 
It is now three years since, 3’et the remem¬ 
brance of that da3'is as fresh in 1113* memory 
as if it had been but 3 T esterday. The happi¬ 
ness I anticipated in leaving my step-father; 
the happiness of seeing my uncle, who had 
been so kind; the delight of going to Paris, 
which I had represented to ni3*self as a sort 
of Elysium; so much joj* quite intoxicated 
me. As often as I heard a carriage stop, I 
ran to see whether it was not my expected 
uncle come to take me awa3'. At last, one 
evening, a carriage did stop before the door. 

“ ‘ There is your uncle,’ said 013' father. 

“ I flew towards m3' deliverer. Cruel de¬ 
ception ! it was the man with the five-franc 
pieces. 

“At that moment I nearly lost 1113* senses; 
and I shall never forget the fiendish joy 
which gleamed in his gray eyes when he saw 


me again. 


Still does bis croaking voice 


sound in my ears. 

“‘Now you are ready, m3* sweet dove; 
now I will introduce 3*ou to the great 
world.’ 

“ He seized m3' hand with one of his, while 
with the other he threw a bag of gold upon 
the table; the bag fell down, and a number 
of shining gold and silver pieces rolled on 
the floor; my three little sisters and my 
step-father shouted for joy, slid down upon 
the floor, and picked up the 11101103'. It was 
—1113* purchase-money! 

“At an early hour the following morning 
we departed for Paris. The man (I could 
not call him uncle') continually kept telling 
me what a brilliant part I should play in his 
saloons. I felt no pleasure in the thought: a 
sorrow, an inexplicable depression, had taken 
the place ol 1113* former joy and gladness. 
The carriage stopped before a large house 
well lighted up; we were in Paris. From 
ten to twelve fair, beautiful girls tripped 
down the broad staircase to meet us; the3' 
caressed mo affectionately, and called me 
sister Giuseppa. I said to the 


man, ‘Are 


these your daughters, sir?’ ‘ Yes, my good 
child,’ he answered, laughing; and then the 
girls and the numerous servants joined in a 


rude 


loud tit of laughter. 


JOURNAL. 


“ Rich dresses and magnificent apartments 

distracted my attention. On the followin'' 
evening I was splendidly attired, and led 
into the saloon. The twelve girls sat su¬ 
perbly habited ; some at gaming-tables, some 
on sofas, and others at a piano. They con¬ 
versed in a lively manner with old and 3'oung 
gentlemen. When I entered, all broke off 
their occupations, came towards me, and 
looked at mo. The master of the house con¬ 
ducted me to the piano ; I was obliged to 
sing, and all applauded me. I was drawn 
into conversation; my untutored, half-Italian 
expression passed for naivete; compliments 
were paid to me, at which I blushed. Thus, 
several days passed away pleasantly enough. 
In m3' simplicity I believed, that as I was 
now in the fashionable world, I must con¬ 
form to its manners. 

“Look, dear doctor, at this small piece of 
paper. To this I owe my safet3 r . I found 
it one morning, beneath my roll of bread, at 
breakfast. I know not from what kind hand 
it came; but ma3' God reward that heart 
which had compassion on me. Thus it be¬ 
gan : ‘Mademoiselle,—The house in which 
you are is one of evil. Have we erred in our 
opinion of Giuseppa ? Will she purchase a 
short glimmer of apparent happiness 1)3' a 
long and sad penance?’ 

“A fearful light burst upon me, which 
threatened almost to blind me; for it rent 
too sudden^* the veil from m3* childlike in¬ 
nocence, and desti'03'cd my dream of a plea¬ 
sant and happ3' existence. What was to be 
done? I had not 3*et learned to make reso¬ 
lutions. The man to whom this house be¬ 
longed was to me as a terrible magician, 
who could read m3' every thought, and who, 
indeed, must know what even now I had 
been told. But I was determined rather to 
die than to remain another instant there. I 
had overheard a 3*011 ng person speaking 
Italian in a house directly opposite. I did 
not know her; but did I know an3' one in 
this fearful cit3*? The sound of 1113* native 
language inspired me with confidence; to 
her I would fly; I would entreat her to save 
me. I prayed earnestly to God to help and 
protect me in this fearful crisis, and I felt 
myself already strengthened for the attempt. 

“ It was seven o’clock in the morning; I 
had adhered to my habit of earl3* rising, 
and of soon after taking my breakfast, and 
this now saved me. All at this hour were 
asleep, even a greater number of the ser¬ 
vants. I had onl3* to fear the porter. But 
would it ever enter into his mind that aiy 
one could leave this temple of splendor? I 
ventured; I wrapped myself in m3’ little plain 
black mantle, and again commending mysclt 
to the protection of heaven, hurried down¬ 
stairs. My knees trembled as I passed tho 
porter’s lodge, but ho observed mo not: three 
steps more, and I was free. 

“On the other side of tho street, just 













14.3 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


opposite, lived the young Italian girl. I ran 
across, and knocked at the door, which a 
servant opened; I inquired for the signora 
with the hlack ringlets who spoke Italian. 
The servant smiled, and said, ‘I suppose 
you mean Excellenza Seraphina?’ 

“‘The same, the same,’ I quickly an¬ 
swered, ‘lead me to her instantly.’ lie 
seemed rather to hesitate at first, as it was 
so early; but at length my entreaties pre¬ 
vailed. He took me up to the second floor, 
showed me into a small room, told me to 
wait there, and then called a waiting-maid 
to announce me to her mistress. I had sup¬ 
posed the Italian girl to be in my own 
station of life, and I now felt ashamed at the 
thought of telling my tale to one of her rank ; 
but no time was left mo for reflection, as the , 
maid returned immediately to lead me to 
her lady. Yes; it was the same young girl 
I had heard speaking Italian. I fell down 
before her, and implored her protection: I 
was obliged to relate to her my whole his¬ 
tory. She was much affected, and promised 
to assist me. She sent for the servant who 
had brought me into the house, and imposed 
on him the strictest silence: then she o;ave 
me a small room at the back part of the 
house, some food, and some work ; and thus 
I lived for several days, rejoicing at my 
deliverance, yet with much anxiety about 
my future fate. 

“The residence into w T hich I had been 
received was that of the ambassador from 
one of the small German courts. The si<rnora 
was his niece, a native of Italy, but brought 
up by him in Paris. She was a kind and amia¬ 
ble being, whose goodness to me can never 
be forgotten. She came every day and saw 
me, and tried to cheer me. She told me 
that the ambassador had made inquiries, by 
means of his servants, about the house of the 
dreaded man: its inmates seemed to be in 
great consternation, but endeavored to hide 
it. The servants, however, whispered mys¬ 
teriously something about a young lady 
having flung herself from a window in the 
second floor into the river Seine. Singular 
coincidence! My room was a corner one, 
and looked on one side into the street; and 
on the other side, just beneath, was the 
river. I remembered that I had opened the 
window on that side; apparently it had re¬ 
mained open, and in this way my disappear¬ 
ance was accounted for. The Lady Sera¬ 
phina at this time was on the point of re¬ 
turning to Italy, and was so kind as to take 
me with her. Indeed, she did much more 
for me: she prevailed on her parents in 
Piacenza to receive me into their house, 
who treated me as if I had been their own 
child. She made my talent for singing be 
cultivated still more highly. Her I have to 
thank for freedom, for life, and for pro¬ 
ficiency in my art,—ah! perhaps for much 
more than I am aware of. In Piacenza I 


became acquainted with Poloni, who is, 
however, not an Italian : he appeared to like 
me, but he did not tell me so. I soon after 
was offered an engagement in this city. I 
was valued : I was well spoken of: my life 
was irreproachable. I have, indeed, never 
seen any one here all this time: but—(I 
may confess to you this happy circumstance 
without a blush)—but Boloni, who soon fol¬ 
lowed me hither.” 

When the signora had concluded, the 
doctor affectionately took her hand. 

“ I congratulate myself,” lie said, “ that I 
am one among the few persons you have 
met with in your career. It is certainly 
not in my power to do for you what her 
Excellenza did, but I shall endeavor to aid 
in unravelling the mystery which hangs 
over your singular history. I shall go to 
your friend, that fiery fellow, and try to 
soothe him. But tell me, whence comes 
this Signor Boloni ?” 

“You ask me too much,” she replied. “ I 
onl} r know that, on account of family matters, 
ho was obliged to leave his country several 
years since. He has been residing in Eng- 
land and in Italy, and has now been here 
nearly a year.” 

“So, so. But why did you never tell him 
what you have just related to me?” 

Giuseppa blushed at this question, cast 
down her eyes, and said,— 

“ You arc my physician, my fatherly 
friend; when I speak to you, I feel like a 
child who speaks to her parent. But how 
could I relate such things to the young 
man ? Besides, I know his terrible jealousy, 
his easily-aroused suspicion; and I never 
could muster sufficient courage to tell him 
from what snares 1 had escaped.” 

“I honor, I admire your principles,” said 
Dr. Lange. “You arc a good girl, and it 
does an old man’s heart good to meet with 
these proper feelings of the good old time; 
for, alas! now it is too often considered a 
proof of ‘ bon ton’ to throw all such away. 
But still you have not told me all: the 
evening at the masquerade—that dreadful 
night!” 

“It is true, I must continue my story. I 
had often thought, when reflecting on my 
deliverance, how fortunate it was that the 
people in that house were under the im¬ 
pression that I had thrown myself into the 
river; for it was only too certain that if 
that vile man had had the most remote idea 
that I was still in existence, he would have 
found out and dragged his victim back, or 
else have destroyed her. For this reason, 
as long as I was in Piacenza, I declined 
many good offers of engagements at the 
theatre, as I dreaded being seen in public. 
However, after I had been there some time, 
the Lady Seraphina one morning brought me 
a Paris newspaper, in which was announced 
the death of the Chevalier de Planto.” 


“Chevalier de Planto!” interrupted the 
doctor: “was this the name of the man who 
took you out of your step-father’s house ?” 

“ Yes, that was his name. 

“I was now quite relieved from my fears, 
and happy at the thought that there was no 
longer any barrier to my becoming inde¬ 
pendent, and ceasing to be a burthen to my 
benefactress. 

“A few weeks after this, I came to B-, 

and the evening before last I went to the 
masquerade in excellent spirits. Boloni did 
not know in what costume I meant to 
appear; I wished to tease him a little, and 
then to surprise him. As I was going 
through the room, in a moment a voice 
whispered in my car,— 

“ ‘Schepperl! how is your uncle?’ 

“I was struck as if by a thunderbolt. I 
had never heard this name since I had been 
taken away by that fearful man. I bad, 
indeed, no uncle; and only one person had 
lived who gave himself out to the world as 
such—the Chevalier de Planto. I had 
scarcely sufficient presence of mind to 
answer,— 

“ ‘A r ou are mistaken, Mask!’ 

“ I wished to hasten away and hide my¬ 
self in the crowd; but the mask pushed his 
arm in mine, and held me fast. 

“ ‘Schepperl,’ said the unknown, ‘I advise 
you to come with me quietly, else I shall 
tell the people here in what company you 
formerly were.’ 

“ I was stunned; one feeling only had 
possession of my mind,—the fear and dread 
of shame. Darkness came over my soul. 
What could a poor helpless girl do? Should 
this man, no matter who he were, spread 
such reports, the world would believe him; 
and C^rlo—ah! Carlo might not have been 
the last one who would have condemned 
me. Unwillingly I accompanied the mask. 
He whispered the most dreadful things to 
me. ‘My uncle,’as he called the chevalier, 
‘I had made miserable, and brought ruin on 
my step-father arid his family.’ 

“I could endure this no longer; I tore 
myself from him, and ordered my carriage. 
As I looked round while standing on the 
steps, the fearful form was behind me. 

“ ‘I will accompany you home, Schepperl,’ 
he said, with a fearful laugh. ‘ I have a few 
words to say to you.’ 

“ My senses forsook me; I felt myself 
fainting, and only recovered in the carriage 
where I saw the mask seated beside me. I 
alighted when we reached this house, and 
went to my room; he followed, and imme¬ 
diately began again to speak to me. In an 
agony lest 1 should be betrayed, I sent 
Babette out of the way. 

“‘What do you want here, wretched 
man?’ I exclaimed in anger at seeing mvself 
thus insulted. ‘ What evil can you say of 
mo? Without my consent 1 was taken to 




















144 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. 


GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


that horrid place, and left it when I saw 
what awaited me.’ 

“ ‘ Sehepperl! do not be ceremonious; 
there are only two ways of saving yourself: 
either pay down to me instantly ten thou¬ 
sand francs in gold or jewels, or go back 
with mo to Paris; else, rest assured that to¬ 
morrow the whole town shall know more of 
you than will be agi’eeable to you.’ 

“ I was beside myself. ‘ Who gives you a 
right to make such proposals?’ I exclaimed. 
‘Tell the whole town what you please, but 
leave this house instantly, or I shall call in 
the neighbors.’ 

“ I had advanced some steps towards the 
window, when he rushed after me, and 
seized me by the arm. 

“ ‘Who gives me the right? your father, 
little dove—your father!’ 

“A diabolical laugh burst from his lips; 
the light of the taper fell on a pair of gray 
piercing eyes, which were only too well 
known to me. It was evident who stood 
before me : I now knew that the announce¬ 
ment of his death had been a deception 
devised by him to serve his own ends. 
Despair gave me supernatural strength: I 
wrenched myself from his grasp, and en¬ 
deavored to pull off his mask. 

“‘I know you, Chevalier de rianto,’ I 
exclaimed; ‘and you shall give an account 
in a court of justice for your conduct.’ 

“‘Wo are not yet come to that, sweet 
dove,’ he cried; and at the same moment I 
felt his dagger in my breast. 1 then thought 
I was killed.” 

The doctor shuddered: it was bright day, 
yet he felt that sort of shivering which 
people are apt to experience when in the 
dim twilight they listen to stories of appa¬ 
ritions. He imagined he heard the hoarse 
laugh of this fiend; he fancied he saw 
glancing from behind the curtains of the 
bed the gray twinkling eyes of this monster 
in human form. 

“You think then,” he said, after a pause, 
“that the chevalier is not dead, and that it 
was he who attempted to murder 3*011 ?” 

“His voice, his eyes, convince me of it; 
and the handkerchief which I gave you last 
night leaves no room for doubt. His initials 
are marked on it.” 

“ You empower me, then, to act for you? 
May I disclose all you have related to me in 
the court of justice?” 

“ I have no choice: you may repeat all. 
But are you not going to Boloni, doctor, to 
tell him what I have said ? He will believe 
you ; he was also acquainted with the Lady 
Seraph in a.” 

“And may I not be told the name of the 
ambassador,” continued the doctor, “in 
whose house you were concealed ?” 

“Certainly: he was called Baron Marti- 
now.” 

“How!” cried the physician, joyfully, 


“ Baron Martinow ? Is he not in the service 
of S-?” 

“Yes; do you know him ? He was am¬ 
bassador from the-Court, in Paris, and 

afterwards in St. Petersburg.” 

“ That is good, very good,” said the medi- 
cinalrath, rubbing his hands with pleasure. 
“I know Baron Martinow; he arrived here 
yesterday, and has sent for me to come and 
see him: ho is at the Hotel do Portugal. 

A tear now glistened in the eye of the 
singer; she clasped her hands, and seemed 
to be overcome by a feeling of pious grati¬ 
tude. 

“Thus has God in His mercy willed that 
a person should come here to attest my inno¬ 
cence, whom I had believed to be hundreds 
of miles distant! Go to him. Ah! Carlo 
also may listen to him, when he confirms to 
you the truth of what I have said.” 

“He shall—he shall go to him; I will set 
about it directly. Farewell, my dear child ; 
and keep yourself perfectly quiet; all will 
yet be well with you. Be sure you take the 
mixture every hour.” So said the good 
doctor, and went away. 

Bianetti thanked him by her grateful 
looks. She became more cheerful and tran¬ 
quil. It seemed as if by the disclosure of 
her secret a heavy weight had been removed 
from her heart. She looked with more con¬ 
fidence towards the future, as a gracious 
Providence appeared to have compassion on 
the poor girl. 

Baron Martinow, to whom Lange at a 
former period had had it in his power to 
render an important service, received him 
with much kindness, and gave him the fullest 
satisfaction with regard to the Signora 
Bianetti. He not only corroborated every 
word she bad said, but added the highest 
commendation of her character, and prom¬ 
ised that, wherever he went in the city, he 
would make a point of speaking in her favor, 
and of contradicting the reports which were 
abroad. He kept his word so well, that, by 
uttering his opinions, showing the interest 
he took in her, and writing to her friends, 
the sentiments of the public underwent a 
wondrous change, as if touched by an en¬ 
chanter’s wand. 

When the medicinalrath Lange left the 
elegant apartment of the ambassador, he 
ascended the stairs which led to the smaller 
rooms on the highest floor. In chamber 5 4 
was lodged the music director, Boloni. He 
stood to recover his breath, for the steep 
steps had fatigued him. Strango sounds 
reached his car; there seemed to be a person 
within in great distress: he heard groans 
and sighs, apparently proceeding from one 
in anguish. Intermingled with the moan- 
ings £>f pain were horrible oaths, uttered in 
french and in Italian, in which impatience 
appeared to find vent, while a wild laugh of 
despair was again succeeded by the deep 


<rroans which had first arrested the attention 

O 

of the doctor. Lange shuddered. 

“Have I not already seen symptoms of 
insanity in the viaestro ?” thought he. “ Has 
ho now become quite delirious, or has ho 
become ill through grief?” 

He had bent bis finger to knock, when for 
the fi rst time he observed that the number 
of the door was 53 . How had he been so 
stupid ? he had almost entered the room of 
a perfect stranger. Annojmd at himself, he 
went on to the next door, which was 54. 
Here likewise there were sounds heard; but 
how different! A rich, deep, manly voice 
was singing, and accompanying his song 
with the piano. The doctor entered and 
recognized the young man whom he had 
seen the day before at the signora’s. 

In the apartment lay music-paper, guitars, 
violins, flutes, all kinds of stringed instru¬ 
ments, in admirable confusion ; in the midst 
of which stood the musician, in a wide black 
dressing-gown, with a scarlet cap on his 
head, and a sheet of music in his hand. The 
doctor afterwards confessed that he brought 
to his mind Marius amidst the ruins of 
Carthage. 

The young man seemed not to have for¬ 
gotten the scene of the previous day, and 
received the doctor but coldly. However, he 
was polite enough to toss a pile of music 
from a chair on to the floor, that he might 
offer his visitor a seat. He himself with 
great strides paced up and down the room, 
while bis flowing robe swept most diligently 
the dust from the tables and books. 

The doctor had not long to wait before 
conversation began. The professor cried out 
to him,— 

“ You come from her! At your age, are 
you not ashamed to be the messenger of such 
a woman ? I will hear no more. I have 
buried my happiness in the grave. You see 
I mourn for my loss. I wear a black dressing- 
gown, which, if you dive deep into psychol¬ 
ogy, should be a proof to you that I regard 
that person as dead to me. Oh, Giuseppa! 
Giuseppa!” 

“ Most worthy sir,” interrupted the doctor, 
“ only hear me.” 

“ Hear you ! what know you of hearing? 
Listen, if 3*011 would speak of hearing! I 
will prove, old man, whether 3*011 really have 
an3 7 ear. Behold, this is woman,” he con¬ 
tinued, opening a piano and striking a few 
chords which to the doctor, who was no 
great judge of music, seemed much like 
other music : “ do 3*011 hear this tenderness, 
this softness, this pliancy ? but do 3*011 not 
also perceive, in these transitions, the unsta¬ 
ble, fleeting, characterless nature of these 
creatures? But hear further,” he exclaimed, 
with a more elevated voice and sparkling 
03*0, while he shook back the wide sleeve ot 
bis mourning robe; “ where man works 
there is power and truth: here can be 














PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


145 


nothing imperfect; it is a pure, a heavenly 
sound.” lie hammered with great force on 
the keys of his piano, but to the doctor it 
still seemed like common music. 

“ You have a peculiar way of character¬ 
izing people,” said Dr. Lange. “Since you 
have done so much, might I beg of you, 
honored sir, to represent to me a medicinal- 
rath upon the piano ?” 

I he musical enthusiast looked scornfully 
at him. “ How can you, with your one 
squeaking note, earth-worm, interrupt such 
harmony ?” 

The reply of the doctor was cut short by 
a knocking at the door; a little deformed 
figure entered, made a bow, and said, “The 
gentleman in No. 53 civilly begs that you 
will not make such a dreadful noise with 
your playing, as he is in a bad state of 
health, indeed almost dying, and the parti¬ 
tion between your rooms is very thin.” 

“Make my most respectful compliments 
to the gentleman,” answered Boioni, “ and 
as far as I am concerned, I care not how 
soon he takes his departure from this house. 
Lie disturbs me all night long with his moan¬ 
ing and groaning, and what is far more hate¬ 
ful, with his godless swearing and mad 
laughter. Does the Frenchman imagine 
that he alone is master in the Hotel de 
Portugal? If I disturb him, so does he me, 
and in a far worse manner.” 

“ But consider, sir,” said the little figure, 
“ he cannot hold out long; will you not per¬ 
mit his last moments-” 

“ Is the gentleman so very ill ?” asked Dr. 
Lange, sympathizingly. “ Who attends him? 
What is the matter with him ? Who is he?” 

“ Who he is 1 don’t know,” replied the 
dwarf. “ I am only his hired valet de place. 
I think he is called Lorier, and comes from 
France. Until the da} T before yesterday be 
was well enough, though somewhat dull, 
for he never went out, and had no desire to 
see the wonders of this city'; but yesterday 
morning I found him ill in bed. It seems 
as if the night before he must have bad a 
fit of apoplexy. But he will not hear of an } 7 
doctor being sent for. lie swears dreadfully 
when I propose to go for one. He applies 
remedies himself. I think some old wound 
which he had received in the war must have 
broken out.” 

At this moment the sick man began to 
call out in a hoarse voice, with many oaths. 
The lackey crossed himself repeatedly, and 
went awa} 7 . 

The pb} r sician once more endeavored to 
make an impression 011 the obdurate lover; 
and this time lie appeared to succeed rather 
better. Boioni had taken up a sheet of 
music, which he sang over to himself in a 
low voice. The doctor took advantage of 
this calm mood, and began to relate to him 
the story of the signora. At first the maestro 
did not seem to pay any heed to it; he 
19 


busied himself diligently with his piece of 
music, as if no one was in the apartment but 
himself; gradually, however, he became more 
attentive—he ceased to sing—now and then 
raised his eyes from the paper and glanced 
at the doctor; finally, he dropped his sheet 
of music, and fixed his anxious gaze stead- 
last ]} 7 on the face of the speaker: his inter¬ 
est increased; his eyes sparkled; became 
nearer, grasped the arm of the doctor; and, 
as the other concluded, he rose up in great 
emotion. 

“Yes,” cried he, “there may be truth in 
this, an appearance of truth, a probability; 
it is possible; it may have been so, but—but 
may it not also be a falsehood ?” 

“That is what in your art is called 
‘decrescendo,’ I believe, sir director; but 
wherefore in this matter descend so low 
as from truth to falsehood ? If I were to 
bring an indisputable proof, a witness of the 
truth, what would you then say to me?” 

Boioni remained standing before him as if 
lost in thought. “ Whoever, medicinalrath, 
could be such a witness, I would set in gold; 
the very thought deserves a princely, a regal 
reward. Yes, whoever could assure me— 
yet, all is so dark, such a labyrinth—no way 
out, no leading star.” 

“Honored friend,” interrupted the doctor, 
“I rather think you have stumbled on a 
scrap from Schiller’s ‘ Robbers,’ as it stands in 
Cotta’s pocket edition, if I remember aright. 
Yet I know such a surety, such a witness, 
such a guiding star.” 

“ Whoever shall thus assure me,” cried the 
J former, “shall be esteemed my friend, my 
guardian angel.” 

“It is true that, in the passage quoted, 
the reference is to a sword which, with a 
deep wound, shall destroy the brood of 
vipers; but for all that, I shall be able to 
convince you. The ambassador who received 
poor Giuseppa into his house, now, by acci¬ 
dent, lodges in this hotel, in No. 6 . Be so 
good as put on a coat and tie on a cravat; 

I then I will conduct you to him. lie has 
promised me to convince you.” 

The young man, much affected, pressed 
the hand of the kind doctor. Still he could 
not altogether lay aside his pathos. “You 
are my good angel,” said he: “ what thanks 
do I not owe you for this? I fly instantly 
lor my coat, and will follow you immediately 
to the ambassador.” 

Giuseppa’s health appeared to derive 
greater benefit from the reconciliation with 
her lover than from the most skilfully pre¬ 
pared mixtures of the physician. Her health 
visibly improved, and she was soon so much 
restored that she was able to sit up and re¬ 
ceive the visits of her kind friends. This 
improvement in her health was waited for 
by the inspector of police, before he pro¬ 
ceeded to take further steps in the matter, 
lie was a very sagacious man, who had all 


his wits about him ; and report said that when 
! he had once cast his eyes on any one, they 
would not easily escape, although a hundred 
miles and more away. The history of the 
1 signora had been communicated to him by 
the physician ; he had then a consultation 
with the ambassador, and gained informa¬ 
tion which was of great importance. The am¬ 
bassador had told him that, in consequence 
of the affair of the young Bianetti, he had 
taken an opportunity of making known to 
the proper authorities the vicious life led 
by the Chevalier de Planto. He did not fail 
to place in its true light the fact that this 
poor child had been actually bought. The 
notorious house was soon after seized by the 
police, and the baron seemed to think that 
this was chiefly in consequence of the active 
part he had taken in the matter. He had 
heard of the death of the Chevalier de 
Planto, but believed, with the director of 
police, that this was a mere trick, in order 
to continue his trade with greater safety; 
neither of them had any doubt but that the 
attempt to murder the singer originated with 
that vile man. But it was difficult to trace 
the murderer; the strangers who were then 

residing at B-were all, as the director 

assured him, beyond suspicion. There were 
only two things that might lead to some 
clew: the handkerchief which had been 
found in the apartment of the Signora 
Bianetti might, if another could be found 
like it, lead to a discovery; an exact de¬ 
scription had been given of it to all the seam¬ 
stresses and the washerwomen who were in 
the habit of washing for the strangers who 
visited B-. The inspector likewise sus¬ 

pected that a second attempt would be made 
on the life of the Italian girl, if the murderer 
were still lingering in the neighborhood. 

As soon as Giuseppa had gained sufficient 
strength, the inspector of police often visited 
her in company with Dr. Lange, when 
various measures for obtaining their object 
were discussed. Some plans appeared good 
but difficult to put in execution ; while others 
were altogether rejected. Giuseppa herself 
at length thought of a way which was highly 
approved of by the two gentlemen. “ The 
doctor,” she said, “ has promised to permit 
me to go out in a few weeks; if he has no 
objection I should like to appear again 
among the people at the last masquerade 
of the carnival. I feel desirous of first 
appearing there where my misfortune 
began. If we make this intention suffi¬ 
ciently public in B-beforehand, and if the 

chevalier is still here, in all probability he 
will again come masked into my presence. 
He will certainly be on his guard against 
speaking; he will take care not to betray 
himself; but he will not give up his design 
of revenging himself on me, and I could 
recognize him amidst thousands. IVhat do 
you think, gentlemen ?” 


0 

















146 


PRESIDENT JAMES 


A. GARFIELD’S 


memorial JOURNAL. 


“The plan is not a bad one,” said tho in¬ 
spector. “ When he hears yon are to be 
at this ball, be will not, I am certain, stay ! 
away, were it only to see again the object of 
bis vengeance, and to add fresh fuel to bis 
wrath. I think, however, you should not 
wear a mask : be will then know you the 
more easily, approach you the sooner, and 
fall into the snare. 1 shall dress a few stout 
fellows in dominoes, and give them to you 
as an escort: at a sign from you they will 
lay bold of him.” 

Babette the waiting-maid bad gone out 
and in during this conversation: she bad 
beard the resolution expressed by her mis¬ 
tress of finding out the murderer or bis as¬ 
sistant; she considered herself, therefore, 
bound in every way to aid in bis detection. 
She went to the police inspector, took 
courage, and said she bad made the doctor 
aware of a circumstance which might lead 
to discovery, but that be did not seem to be 
of her opinion. 

“No circumstance is unimportant, young 
woman, in such an affair as this,” answered 
the officer of the law, “ if you know any¬ 
thing.” 

“ I think the signora is almost too reserved, 
and that she does not speak out plainly^; 
when she received the stab, and fell fainting 
into my arms, her last word was Bolnau.” 

“ What!” exclaimed tfie inspector, angrily; 

“ and this has been hidden from me till now! 
Such an important circumstance! Are you 
certain you heard correctly?” 

“ Upon my honor,” replied the damsel, 
laying her hand solemnly on her heart, “the 
signora said ‘Bolnau,’ and said it so sadly, 
that I never doubted it was the murderer’s 
name; but I beg of you not to betray me!” 

It was a maxim of the inspector’s that no 
man, however respectable he might appear, 
was altogether beyond suspicion. The coun¬ 
sellor of the board of trade, Bolnau (and he 
knew no other in the city of that name), 
was, indeed, known to him as a most orderly 
person; but were there not cases where 
persons, against whom nothing could be said 
according to public appearance, were pre¬ 
cisely these who gave the officers of justice 
most trouble? Might Bolnau not be acting 
secretly in concert with this Chevalier de- 
Planto ? . Pursuing such reflections, lie took 
his way towards tho broad street, as it oc¬ 
curred to him that the counsellor was in the 
habit of walking there about that hour, and 
he was determined to sound him a little. Just 
at that moment Bolnau came down the street, 
and, as usual, was saluting and speaking to 
his aquaintances on all sides; he was laugh¬ 
ing, and appeared to be in excellent spirits. 
He was within about fifty steps of the in¬ 
spector, when he caught the first glimpse of 
this functionary; he became pale, turned 
round, and was in the act of slipping down 
a side street. “A suspicious, a most sus¬ 


picious circumstance,” thought the inspector, 
as he ran after him, and called him by his 
name, which made Bolnau stand still. 1 he 
counsellor seemed the image of woe; in 
hollow tones lie uttered a bon jour, tried to 
smile, but his features became convulsed, his 
knees shook, and his teeth chattered. 

“It is a rare thing to meet you now, sir," 
began the inspector. “I have not seen you 
pass my house for some time. You do not 
appear to be quite well,” added his tor¬ 
mentor, with a piercing look. “You are 
very pale. Is there anything the matter 
with you?” 

“No, I am only rather cold. I Avas cer¬ 
tainly not very avcII for a few days, but, 
Heaven be thanked, I am now better.” 

“So you have not been Avell,” continued 
the inspector. “ I should not have thought 
it, for I fancied that I saAv you at the mas¬ 
querade lately, Avhen you appeared quite 
cheerful and well.” 

“Yes, so I Avas; but the next day I Avas 
obliged to keep my bed—one of my old 
nervous attacks; but I am noAV perfectly 
recovered.” 

“ Well, tben, I hope you will not fail to 
be at the next assembly ; it is the last of the 
carnival, and will be most brilliant. I shall 
expect to see you there. Till then, adieu, 
counsellor.” 

“lie expects to meet me there!” ex¬ 
claimed the counsellor, Avith a rueful coun¬ 
tenance. “He suspects me,” thought he to 
himself. “ lie must know something of the 
last Avord uttered by the singer. It is true 
she is recovering; but may not the suspicion 
which exists in the mind of this officer of 
the police become noised abroad ? May he 
not order me to be watched? The secret 
police will then follo\\ T me; whenever I 
turn, I shall see strange, cunning faces! I 
shall not dare to speak, for each word will 
be reported, interpreted : I shall be regarded, 
alas! as a turbulent fellow, a dangerous 
individual; and yet I haA T c lived as quietly 
and harmlessly as William Tell in the fourth 
act.” 

In this Avay soliloquized the unfortunate 
Bolnau. Ilis agony increased, as he thought 
of the insidious questions about the masque¬ 
rade. “lie certainly thinks I shall not 
venture near the signora, on account of an 
evil conscience ; but I shall; I must, if only 

to remove his suspicion. And yet_may I 

not feel a shivering, a trembling come over 
me in her presence, just because I know he 
will be thinking that I must tremble from 
the stings and torture of an evil conscience ?” 

He tormented himself Avith such thoughts ; 
they haunted him the whole day. lie re¬ 
membered that an author had shown, in a 
celebrated work, how people might have 
anguish from dread of anguish; and this 
appeared quite to be his case. But he felt 
fhat, he must be courageous, and face the 


danger. lie borrowed for the occasion 
from the mask-lender, the magnificent cos¬ 
tume of the Pacha of Janina: he put it on 
every day, and exercised himself in front of 
a large mirror, in order to exhibit in his 
mask without restraint lie made a figure 
of his dressing-gown, placed it on a chair, 
which figure Avas to represent Signora Bia- 
netti. He walked about as the Pacha, then 
approached her, and congratulated her on 
her restored health. 

On the third day he was enabled to play 
his part Avithout shaking; he therefore 
thought he might do a little more, and 
undertake something yet more difficult. lie 
Avished to appear quite at his ease, and very 
polite; and he resolved on offering her pure 
refreshments. lie practised Avith a glass of 
water on a plate; at first it rattled sadly in 
his trembling hand ; but he at last overcame 
this weakness, and was even able to act his 
part quite easily, so that no mortal Avould 
be able to say that they saAv him tremble. 
Ali Pacha, of Janina, now felt himself suffi¬ 
ciently courageous to go to the masquerade, 
in spite of his anxieties. 

The physician, Lange, proposed that he 
should himself have the pleasure of accom¬ 
panying the singer, Avhen she should appear 
in public again the first time after her illness. 
To this the signora most readily agreed. 
Dr. Lange had, indeed, by his true kind¬ 
ness, his paternal care, Avon a claim to her 
warmest gratitude. They appeared together 
at the masquerade, and it seemed even to 
the doctor himself, while by the side of 
the fair and interesting girl, that he Avas a 
person of no small consequence. The peo¬ 
ple in B-Avere a strange set. At first, 

every one, from the visitors in the highest 
and most fashionable drawing-rooms down 
to the frequenters of the beer-shops, had 
spoken ill of Bianetti; but Avhen men of con¬ 
sequence took her by the hand, Avhen re¬ 
spectable dames publicly defended her, the 
weathercocks turned Avith the wind, and the 

inhabitants of B-, affected by the fate of 

the poor girl, ran about the streets almost 
dead Avith joy because she had recovered. 
When she entered the room it seemed as 
if she had been waited for as the queen of 
the festival. People shouted, clapped their 
hands, and cried “bravo!” just as they were 
Avont to do Avhen she had executed some 
difficult roulade. The doctor, too, came in 
for a share. 

“Look! there he is!” they said; “that is 
the skilful physician Avho saved her life.” 

Giuseppa felt herself pleasingly affected 
by this applause of the crowd; indeed, she 
had almost forgotten, in the midst of so 
many whispered good wishes, that a more 
serious object had brought her to that place; 
but the four robust dominoes Avho followed 
her steps, and tho questions of the doctor, 
“ whether she had yet observed the gray 





























































* 


























PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


147 


eyes of the chevalier,” kept her in remem¬ 
brance of her purpose. It soon became evi¬ 
dent to both the doctor and herself that a 
tall, thin man, in the costume of a Turk 

(called, in the city of B-, that of Ali 

Bassa), kept always near them; as often as 
the stream of masks forced him away, he 
returned again and again to their side. The 
singer made a sign to the doctor, looked 
significantly at the mask, and said,— 

“ I have observed him for a long; time.” 

The Turk approached with rather uncer¬ 
tain steps; the signora clung more closely 
to the arm of the physician ; two gray eyes 
were now seen peering from out the mask, 
and a hollow voice said,— 

“ I am delighted beyond measure, most 
excellent mademoiselle, to see you in such 
desirable health.” 

The signora turned away in terror, and ap¬ 
peared to tremble; the mask likewise, see¬ 
ing her draw back, disappeared among the 
crowd. 

“Is it he?” asked the doctor. “Compose 
yourself, for we must proceed quietly, and 
with much precaution. Do you think it is 
he?” 

“I am not quite certain,” she answered; 
“ but I thought I recognized his eyes.” 

Dr. Lange gave the dominoes the hint to 
have their eyes on the Turkish mask, and 
went to another part of the room with the 
signora. Scarcely had they gone a few 
steps, when they saw the same figure, who 
seemed to be watching every movement of 
the singer. 

The medicinalrath went into the banquet- 
ting-room with Giuseppa, as he thought she 
would be the better for some refreshment 
after her fright; he looked round; there 
was the Turk standing close by! The Pacha, 
who had now some sweetmeats and a glass 
of lemonade on a small plate, approached the 
singer; his eyes trembled; the glass seemed 
ready to fall, and made a sad noise on the 
shaking plate. He had now come close up 
to her, when he presented the plate, and 
said,— 

“ Madame, would you not like a glass of 
lemonade and a few sweetmeats?” 

Bianetti stared at him, became pale, pushed 
the plate from her, and cried, “ Horrid man ! 
It is he! it is he! He wishes to poison me.” 

The Pacha of Janina stood dumb and mo¬ 
tionless; he seemed to give up all thought 
of defence, and quietly allowed himself to be 
led off by the four dominoes. 

Almost at the same moment the doctor 
felt some one pull his black cloak with vio¬ 
lence; he turned round and saw the de¬ 
formed little valet from the Hotel de Por¬ 
tugal standing beside him, pale, and evidently 
in extreme terror. 

“ For the love of God, sir, come with me 
directly to No. 53 , before the devil drags 
away that French gentleman.” 


“ What arc you babbling about?” said the 
doctor, impatiently, seeking to push him 
aside, that he might follow the prisoner to 
the police station. 

“I implore you,” cried the dwarf, almost 
howling. “He may, perhaps, still be saved ; 
you are the principal physician,—indeed, the 
city doctor; and it is your duty to comeand 
visit the strangers in the hotels.” 

The physician swallowed an expression of 
impatience and vexation he was on the point 
of uttering; lie saw he had a duty to pei’- 
form, however disagreeable it might be; 
he beckoned to the music director, Boloni; 
gave Bianetti to his care, and quickly left 
the room. 

Lange hastened with the valet to the 
Hotel de Portugal. It was nearly mid¬ 
night; all was still and desolate in the large 
building; the lamps in the passages and in 
the staircases burned faintly and dimly, and 
the doctor experienced an uncomfortable 
sort of feeling stealing over him as he as¬ 
cended the steps to visit the lonely invalid. 
The valet threw open the door; the doctor 
entered, but almost felt inclined to go back; 
for a being whose form and appearance had 
haunted him continually, both when asleep 
and when awake, now lay before him in 
reality. He was a tall, thin, elderly man, 
and had a high, pointed woollen nightcap 
drawn far over his forehead ; his contracted 
chest and bony arms were clothed in flannel; 
from beneath the cap projected a large, sharp 
nose, a haggard, yellow face, which might 
have been that of a corpse, had it not been 
for the keen gray eyes, which gave him an 
appearance of life, and a most hideous, fear- 
inspiring expression. Ilis long, thin fingers, 
with their meagre joints, were hanging far 
out of his sleeves, and, with a hoarse, de¬ 
lirious laugh, he was twisting the coverlet 
of the bed. 

Like this, precisely like this man, the doc¬ 
tor had conceived the Chevalier de Planto 
to be ; those cunning gray eyes, those demon¬ 
like features, that withered form, all were 
here, just as the signora had described him. 
But might not another man have gray eyes? 
Was it to be wondered at if a sick person 
looked pale and ghastly ? And had he not 
just come from the capture of the chevalier? 

The doctor smiled to himself, drew his 
hand across his brow as if to banish such 
thoughts, and approached the bed. Yet in 
all his practice he had never experienced 
such fear and horror as now oppressed 
him while bo stood at the bed ot this man; 
the shuddering which he felt was inexplic¬ 
able to himself, and lie in vain sought to free 
himself from it; he involuntarily drew back 
when he touched the damp cold hand, in 
order to feel the pulse. 

“ That stupid fellow,” said the sick man, in 
a hollow voice, mixing French, bad Italian, 
and broken German together; “that stupid 


fellow has. I believe, brought me a doctor. 
You will pardon me, but I never had much 
faith in your art. The only thing which can 
cure me are the baths of Genoa; I have 
already told that villain to order post-horses; 
I shall leave this place to-night.” 

“He will, indeed, leave this place,” mur¬ 
mured the dwarf, “ but with six coal-black 
horses, and not for Genoa, where the holy 
Fiesco drank, but to a much worse place.” 

The doctor saw that little could be done; 
he perceived the fearful approach of death 
in the eyes of the sick man ; his restlessness 
and wish to be removed were all symptoms 
of a speedy close. He advised him to lie 
down and keep himself quiet, and promised 
to prepare for him a cooling draught. 

The Frenchman laughed fiercely. “Lie! 
lie quietly down ! Were I to lie down I 
should cease to breathe: I must sit up in 
the carriage, I must sit, and away, far away! 
What are you saying, fellow ? Have you 
ordered the horses? Dog, have you packed 
my trunk ?” 

Dr. Lange took again the hand of the man. 
“ Have confidence in me,” he said ; “ my art 
may yet be able, by the blessing of Heaven, 
to do something for you. Your servant tells 
me that an old wound has broken out; will 
you permit me to examine it?” 

Pointing to his side, the dying man grum- 
blingly assented. The physician removed a 
badly-made bandage, and found—a dagger 
wound near the heart. Strange! it was the 
same size and ot the same description as 
that of the singer. 

“ This is a fresh wound,” said the doctor, 
looking at the sick man very suspiciously. 
“ How did you get this ?” 

“You think perhaps that I stabbed my¬ 
self? No; I had a knife in my breast-pocket 
fell down a stair, and scratched myself a lit¬ 
tle : that is all.” 

“Scratched himself a little!” thought 
Lange; “and yet he is dying from this 
wound!” 

Meanwhile he had prepared some lemon¬ 
ade, and offered it to the invalid, who carried 
it with an unsteady hand to his lips; it ap¬ 
peared to refresh him, and tor a few moments 
he was calm and quiet. When he perceived 
that he had spilled a few drops on the cover¬ 
let, he began to curse and swear, and asked 
for a handkerchief. The valet ran to a 
small box, opened it, and took out one. The 
doctor looked at it — a fearful suspicion 
entered his mind—he looked again; it was 
of the same color, the same sort of material, 
as the one found by the signora. The doc¬ 
tor shook in every limb ; there was no longer 
a doubt. Tho Chevalier de Planto, the mur¬ 
derer of Bianetti, lay before him. It was a 
helpless, sick, dying man who la}' there ; 
but to the doctor it appeared as if every mo¬ 
ment he might leap out of bed and seize him 
by the throat. He snatched up his hat, and 











148 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


hastily left the presence of the miserable 
being. 

The terrified valet laid hold of him by the 
coat when he saw him going away. 

“Ah, noble sir!” groaned he, “you surely 
will not leave me all alone with him. I can¬ 
not stand it; if he should now die, and then, 
as a flannelled ghost, with that pointed cap 
on his skull, walk up and down the room! 
For heaven’s sake, do not leave me !” 

The dying man grinned fearfully, laugh¬ 
ing and cursing by turns; he seemed as if 
coming to the help of the dwarf: he stretched 
one long withered limb out of bed, and ex¬ 
tended his bony fingers towards the doctor. 
The latter could stand this no longer; he 
threw otf the desperate valet, and hurried 
out of the room. Even on the lowest step 
of the house he heard the horrible laugh of 
the assassin. 

Next morning a handsome carriage stood 
before the door of the Hotel de Portugal; 
three persons alighted from it, a veiled lady 
and two elderly gentlemen, who entered and 
immediately went up-stairs. 

“Is the referendary Pfalle above?” asked 
one of the gentlemen of the waiter who was 
attending them. 

The latter answered in the affirmative, 
and the other continued,— 

“A most singular interposition of Provi¬ 
dence, that he should fall down-stairs, wound 
himself with his own dagger, so that he was 
prevented from getting away; and that you, 
Lange, should have been called to him!” 

“ Certainly,” added the lady. “ There 
was likewise a peculiar Providence in his 
leaving his handkerchief with me, and ask¬ 
ing for another like it at the very time the 
doctor was beside him!” 

“So it was to be!” said the second gentle¬ 
man ; “ and nothing can be said on the sub¬ 
ject but that so it was ordered. But in this 
whirlpool I had almost forgotten something; 
tell me, what have you done with the Pacha 
of Janina? The signora must surely have 
been mistaken. Have you set him at lib¬ 
erty? Who was the poor creature?” 

“ On the contrary,” replied the other gen¬ 
tleman, “I have convinced myself that lie is 
an accomplice of the chevalier. I have had 
my eye on him for some time past, and have 
commanded that he should be brought here, 
to confront him with the prisoner!” 

“ Not possible!” exclaimed the lady; “an 
accomplice ?” 

“ Yes, yes,” said the gentleman, smiling 
slyly. “I know various things, though people 
do not choose to tell me them. But hero 
w r e are at No. 53 . Mademoiselle, have the 
kindness in the meanwhile to step into No. 
54 ; the director Boloni permits it, and will 
not turn you out. I shall remain here; and 
when you are to be examined I shall send 
for you.” 

It is not necessary to say that these three 


persons were the singer, the physician, and 
the inspector of police ; they came to accuse 
the Chevalier de Planto of an attempt to 
murder. The physician and the official 
entered. The sick man was sitting up in 
bed, as the doctor had seen him the night 
before; but now, in the light of day, his fea- 
tures appeared more hideous—the expres¬ 
sion of his eyes, which began to be fixed, 
more awful. Ho looked, first at the doctor, 
then at the police director, with vacant 
looks; then he seemed to be reflecting on 
what was passing around him. The referen¬ 
dary Pfalle had placed a table before him, 
laid on it a pile of paper, and held in his 
right hand a pen, ready to note down the 
evidence. 

“ Beast!” cried the invalid, “ what do these 
gentlemen want? A r ou know I receive no 
visitors.” 

The police functionary stood close to him, 
looked at him steadfastly, and said, emphati¬ 
cally,— 

“ Chevalier de Planto!” 

“ Qui viveT ’ replied the sick man, lifting 
his right hand to bis cap, as if saluting him 
in military fashion. 

“Sir, are you the Chevalier de Planto?” 
continued the other. 

Ilis gray ej-es began to sparkle; he threw 
piercing glances upon the referendary and 
the inspector, scornfully shook his head, and 
replied,— 

“ The chevalier has been dead some time.” 

“Indeed! Who are you, then ? Answer 
me; I ask in the name of the king.” 

The Frenchman laughed. “Iam called 
Lorier. Fellow, give these gentlemen my 
passport.” 

“ It is not necessary. Do you know this 
handkerchief, sir ?” 

“ Why should I not know it? You have 
taken it from my seat. Wherefore are all 
these questions? What is all this about? 
Gentlemen, you annoy me.” 

“ Be pleased to look at your left hand,” 
said the inspector; “there you will find 
your handkerchief; hut this one was found 
in the house of a certain Giuseppa Bianetti.” 

The sick man cast a look of fury on those 
around him; he clinched his fist, ground his 
teeth, but remained doggedly silent, although 
the inspector repeated the question. The lat¬ 
ter now gave the doctor a hint, who went 
out of the room, and soon returned with 
the singer, the director Boloni, and the am¬ 
bassador. 

“ Baron Martinow,” said the inspector, 
turning towards that gentleman, “ do you 
know this man to be the same person whom 
you knew in Paris as the Chevalier de 
Planto ?” 

“ I recognize him to be the same,” replied 
the Baron, “ and again repeat the statements 
I made formerly, when called upon to give 
my deposition.” 


“Giuseppa Bianetti, do you know this in¬ 
dividual to be the same person who took you 
from the house of your step-father, who led 
you to his house in Paris, and who lately 
made an attempt on your life?” 

The signora shuddered at the siVht of 
the wretched being; she was going to reply, 
when he spared her by his own confession. 
He raised himself higher in his bed, his 
woollen cap seemed to stand up more point¬ 
edly, his arms were rigid, he appeared to 
move them with great difficulty, and his 
fingers bent convulsively; his voice came 
faintly and hoarsely from his breast; even 
his lauffk and his oaths had sunk into a kind 
of whisper. 

“ Do you come to visit me, Scbepperl?” he 
said. “Well, that is kind of you ! Are you 
not delighted with my appearance ? I am 
truly sorry that I did not hit you better; 
you would then have been spared the pain 
of seeing your uncle insulted, before his de¬ 
parture, by these German brutes.” 

“ What need have we of further evidence ?” 
observed the inspector. “ Mr. Referendary 
Pfalle, make out a writ of imprisonment 
against-” 

“What are you about?” exclaimed the 
doctor. “ Death is already at his heart. He 
cannot live many hours. Make haste, if you 
have any more questions to ask; or, rather, 
go and send for a priest, if yet the wretched 
being may have time to confess his sins and 
repent.” 

The inspector left the room. The dying 
man, however, appeared to sink more and 
more rapidly; his eyes became fixed; yet, 
as he turned them towards Giuseppa, rage 
and fury were still perceptible. 

“Scbepperl,” he went on to say, “you 
have made me miserable; you have ruined 
me, and for that you deserved death. You 
have also ruined your father, and sent him 
to the galleys, because he sold you to me for 
gold; he entreated me to destroy you. I 
am sorry I trembled. Cursed be these 
hands which did not at once strike surely!” 

Ilis frightful oaths, uttered against Giu¬ 
seppa and himself, were interrupted by a 
message from the inspector, that Bianetti’s 
presence was required in another apartment. 
There a singular sight presented itself. Two 
officers of justice led in a man attired as a 
Turk ; it was the unfortunate Pacha of Ja¬ 
nina; the turban covered the head of the 
sorrowful Counsellor Bolnau. All were 
astonished, and the music director seemed in 
a state of great excitement; he became red 
and pale by turns, and turned away his face. 

With a most rueful countenance the Turk 
looked around him. 

“I knew it would come to this,” he be¬ 
gan, in a melancholy tone. “I had long 
foreboded it. But, Mademoiselle Bianetti, 
how could you bring upon an innocent man 
so much misery ?” 










PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


149 


“ Wliat do you want with this gentleman?” 
asked the singer. “I do not know him. 
What has he done?” 

“ Signora,” replied the inspector, gravely, 
“there should be no tampering with justice 
nor forbearance shown to any one. You 
must know this gentleman: he is the Coun¬ 
sellor Bolnau. Your own waiting-maid de- 
clared that at the time of the accident she 
heard you call out his name.” 

“Dreadful 1 ” exclaimed the Pacha, “to 
have my name mentioned in connection 
with such suspicious circumstances!” 

Giuseppa was amazed; a deep crimson 
suffused itself over her beautiful counte¬ 
nance ; she seized the director by the hand 
in great emotion. 

•“Carlo!” she cried, “now you must 
speak; I cannot any longer keep silence. 
Yes, I may have uttered this name at that 
awful moment, yet I meant not this gentle¬ 
man, but-” 

“Me!” said the choir-master, stepping- 
forward. “I am called not Carlo Bolini, but 
(if my dear father there permits it) Charles 
Bolnau!” 

“Charles! musician! American!” ex¬ 
claimed the counsellor, embracing him; 
“ that is the first sensible word you have 
spoken in your life; you have rescued me 
from a great calamity.” 

“If the matter stands thus,” said the man 
of justice, “you are at liberty; we have only 
now to deal with the Chevalier de Planto.” 

* * * * * 

They returned to the sick-room. Here 
an awfully different scene was before them. 
The inspector approached the bed of the 
terrible being. There stood the doctor, in 
a solemn attitude, holding the hand of the 
murderer; he laid it slowly and quietly on 
the cover, and closing the fixed eyes— 

“Inspector,” said he, “now he stands be¬ 
fore a higher Judge.” 

All understood him; and they quitted the 
apartment of the dead, filled with thoughts 
too awful to admit of further conversation 
at that time. 

The next meeting of the singer and the 
doctor, with the counsellor and his now re¬ 
stored son, was a happy one. The singer 
hid her face on the bosom of her lover, 
and wept; but these tears were the last she 
shod over the unhappy events of her life. 
The counsellor went smiling away from the 
affectionate pair, and seemed to have come 
to some great determination: he spoke aside 
to the doctor, and then returned to his son 
and the signora. 

“ Dearest ybung lady,” he began, “ I have 
suffered much on your account. You have 
mentioned my name under such sad circum¬ 
stances, that I beg you will exchange yours 
for it. Yesterday you despised my offers 
of attention, will you push me away again 
when I present to you Master Charles Bol¬ 


nau, my musical son, and request you to 
accept him as your husband?” 

Bianetti did not this time say, “No;” she 
kissed with tears of joy the hand of the 
counsellor. Charles folded her with rapture 
in his arms, and seemed for the present en¬ 
tirely to have forgotten his sublime speeches. 
Counsellor Bolnau grasped the hand of the 
physician. 

“Lange,” said he, “could I ever have 
fancied that it should lead to this, when you 
made me tremble in every limb, when you 
recounted the story of Bianetti’s accident, 
and when you said to me her last word was 
Bolnau!” 

“And what could have been better?” re¬ 
plied the doctor, smiling. “ It was well I 
told you that, for who knows if all this 
would have happened, but for tiie last 

WORD OF THE SINGER?” 


CHINA AND GLASSWARE. 

There is nothing that looks more beauti- 
f'ul than a display of fine china and glass, 
and they are now much used here for house 
ornamentation. In England, a few years 
ago, the mania for old china was at its height. 
The contagion has spread to this side of the 
; Atlantic, and shows little signs of abatement. 
The designs in glass of late are perfect gems 
of art, and the decorated china is simply 
I gorgeous. There is now a most handsome 
holiday assortment of these wares, American 
and foreign, at the principal establishments 
in New York, and among them may be men¬ 
tioned the firms of Rufus M. Brundige, 877 - 
879 Broadway ; D. B. Bedell, 868 Broadway; 
0 . A. Gager, 49 Barclay and 52 and 54 Park 
Place; Bawo & Hotter, 30 and 32 Barclay 
Street; Gilman, Collamore & Co., 19 Union 
Square, AY.; Davis Collamore, Twenty-first 
Street and Broadway. For fine glassware 
of all varieties, a visit should be paid to 
Walker’s, 702 Broadway and 33 Union 


CLOTHING. 

Ready-made clothing can be bought at 
lower prices than ordered garments, and 
is equally good in wear and fit. You can 
have your choice of a nobby suit—sack, 
Chesterfield, or cutaway, etc.—and get your¬ 
self a complete and finished “ rig out” without 
a moment’s notice. Among the best names 
in this line of business are those of \\ ade A 
Cumming, corner of Eighth Avenue and 
Twenty-third Street, New York; Trap- 
hagan, 398 and 400 Bowery, New York; 
Henry Schneider, 824 Sixth Avenue, New 
York; Browning, Ninth and Chestnut 
Streets, Philadelphia; Yates & Co., Ledger 
Building, Chestnut and Sixth Streets, Phila¬ 
delphia. 


LINES TO A TEACUP. 

Dear little teacup, 

Oh ! my rare wee cup, 

Work of Celestials ! you must be divine; 
Tea no one drank in 
Porcelain of Nankin 
So fit to rank in 

Richer ceramic collections than mine. 

Those curious blue marks, 

Not sham, but true marks, 

Prove you are nearly five centuries old ; 

In your young beauty 
Perhaps you did brew tea 
For the King Chuty, 

Robed like the sun, in a mantle of gold. 

* * * * * 
Where is his charmer? 

AVho would dare harm her, 

She who ruled over the ruler of men ? 

But in the places 
AVhich knew her graces 
She left no traces, 

They have forgotten their fair denizen. 

She was not brittle, 

Frail perhaps a little, 

Why is she missing, and you here to-day ? 
Say by what token 
You are unbroken? 

Patent to no ken 

Is the distinction, for both are of clay. 


HAIR DRESSING. 

While false hair is used so much in dress¬ 
ing ladies’ heads, it is well to know where 
to get the genuine article, and that it has 
been prepared in the proper manner. In all 
ages, false hair has played a conspicuous part 
in personal adornment. It has not been 
confined to the fair sex. Many years ago a 
gentleman would no more think of moving 
out without his wig than he would without 
his hat; and even at the present time wigs 
have not entirely died out. There are no 
better places where you can take your head 
to than at Vaunt’s, 1321 Chestnut Street, 
Philadelphia; and at Bell Chambers’, Sixth 
Avenue and Twentieth Street, New York. 


FINE SHIRTS. 

A well-fitting shirt isjust as pleasant to 
look at as an ill-fitting one is disgusting. The 
American shirts now come up to, if they do 
not excel, those of French or English makers. 
There is no place we know of where a better¬ 
fitting and more comfortably-feeling garment 
can be obtained than at Union Adams, manu¬ 
facturer of fine dress shirts, collars, cuffs, and 
drawers, No. 1127 Broadway, New York. 

















150 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


[WRITTEN FOR THE GARFIELD MEMORIAL JOURNAL.] 


PETER BAKER’S DREAM. 


BY OLIVE HARPER. 

“ On, dear! Here it is coming on Christ¬ 
mas again! What a bother! All those 
plaguy women will be coming around again 
with their petitions for contributions of 
groceries or money for the poor; as if all 
I had to do was to feed everybody in the 
world who was lame or lazy or who has 
squandered away fortunes. It is a shame: 
that is what it is! Rut I suppose I must 
give something, or else I shall risk losing 
my best customers; besides, it looks well 
to sec your name down at the head of a 
subscription list with a good round sum, 
so I suppose I must give about twenty 
dollars’ worth of groceries. That will do, 
I guess.” 

And old Peter Baker rubbed his thin, dry 
hands, and smiled a shrewd smile, that made 
his thin lips look still thinner and his little 
blue nose more peaked than evei\ lie 
stood a while, thinking and rubbing his 
hands as if to warm them, and with his 
weazened little bodj" cuddled tightly down 
under his thick overcoat. At last he called 
out sharply,— 

“Edward, take down that rusty old ham 
that we keep outside for a sign, and bring it 
here. Ah ! that will do very well. Humph! 
Now where are those two sacks of Hour that 
Mr. Adams returned, saying they were 
musty ? Bring them here. And that barrel 
of sugar that the can of kerosene leaked 
into, bring that out, too. And those dried 
apples that grew wormy. Humph! Is 
there anything else that is spoiled,—hum,—I 
mean, not quite fresh, you know?” 

“There are a couple of sides of bacon, and 
some rice that has got weevils in it, and 
some molasses that has worked, besides 
there is some butter that is so strong; I am 
afraid it won’t sell.” 

“Oh! oh! Just hear him talk! Why, I 
shall be bankrupt; why don’t you sell these 
things, instead of letting them spoil on my 
hands ?” 

“ People won’t buy them. I have tried to 
sell them.” 

“You should 4 have mixed them in with 
the good, a little at a time, and you could 
have given the butter and bacon to children 
instead of the good; they won’t never know 
the difference. You will never learn the 
principles of business. You would bankrupt 
me, I tell you, if I wasn’t around myself. 
Well, bring them along. There will be 
enough to divide and give to two societies, 
and I guess they will he as good as an 
advertisement. I hate to give so much, but 
I guess I will get it back somehow. It is 
good to be charitable, and I knQw I feel for 
the poor, and I do hate to see all that stuff 
no to waste. But I know it will bring* in 

O O 


dollars. And the poor folks they daren t 
complain. If they did, the benevolent socie¬ 
ties would call them ungrateful. So I get 
! all the benefit, and don’t lose much.” 

“What am 1 to do with this stuff, Mr. 
Baker?” said the clerk, office boy, and 
porter, all in one. 

“ Why, Edward, you know that it is my 
custom to always make a donation towards 
the comfort of the poor every Christmas. I 
like to see them enjoy themselves in luxury 
and plenty at least one day in the year. It 
is a religious duty, a Christian action, and a 
privilege,—yes, a privilege that we who are 
better oft' in this world’s goods than our 
neighbors should divide with them. Humph! 
I have very charitable sentiments, Edward.” 

“I don’t know where he keeps them,” 
thought Edward, who had not half starved 
under the old grocer’s grinding salary thir¬ 
teen years for nothing. 

“Now, Edward, you will make a division 
of these groceries, and put each separate, 
and send one-half to the Society for Aged 
and Indigent Widows, and the other to the 
! society for the orphans of our parish church. 
Y r ou know which that is, I suppose. No? 
Why, it is the Church of Illimitable Love. 
Be sure, now, that there is a ticket with my 
name and address on each article, and write 
a nice letter to the lady president of each 
society, sa} T ing -that Mr. Peter Baker begs to 
add his mite to their noble Christian labors. 
Oh, the ham can go with one part, and the 
two sides of bacon with the other. And, 
Edward, you have been an honest and faith¬ 
ful clerk, though, to be sure, you lack judg¬ 
ment sometimes, so I desire to make you a 
little present for Christmas. Humph! Here is 
a dollar. It is not much, but you know that 
I am not rich. Never mind thanks. Now 
I will go home, as I have something to do. 
Have those sent at once.” 

And the thin little old grocer trudged off 
home, to his cosey parlor, which was warm 
and well furnished, as though he did not be¬ 
grudge himself the comforts of life. lie sat 
down to think before the fire, rubbing his 
cold, claw-like hands, as he mentally calcu¬ 
lated his wealth; for thirty years of grasping 
j avariciousness had made him rich. Many 
times had he given short weight, many times 
had he turned a hungry person away from 
his door and his store, but, because he al- 
j ways went to church regularly every Sun¬ 
day, and gave a load of groceries every year 
to the poor, he felt his duty done as a man 
and a Christian. 

Edward made a grimace as he packed up 
the spoiled and unsalable goods ready for 
their destinations, with a note to each lady 
president asking her acceptance of the ac¬ 
companying provisions, and then he went to 
harness the horse to deliver them, but he 
found the poor brute sick in his stall. He 
passed the greater part of the evening in 


taking care of the horse, and could not, there¬ 
fore, deliver the goods. 

Peter Baker sat by his fire when his house¬ 
keeper came in with his dinner. There was 
a nice little turkey, and a round plum pud¬ 
ding, and a deep mince pie that gave forth 
1 delicious odors. Peter Baker sniffed the 
odor with surprise, not unmixed with pleas- 
j lire, and then he said,— 

“Mrs. Tripp, who ordered such a dinner 
as this? you know that I cannot afford such 
luxuries. You may have gotten a mistaken 
idea, by seeing this furniture around me, but 
I use it as a matter of economy. I inherited 
it, madam, and preferred to retain it rather 
than to sell it for nothing. I cannot afford 
extravagance, though your dinner looks very 
good, and I must say it would have been 
better to have saved this for to-morrow, 
which is Christmas, you know.” 

“But, if you please, sir, my sister lives in 
the country, and her husband is a farmer, 
and thej r are quite well off, so they sent me 
a barrelful of country fare, sir, and I made 
bold to cook a turkey, sir, and there is an¬ 
other, sir, and I hope you are not vexed.” 

“ Oh, no, not under the circumstances, not 
at all, only, when I see so much misery 
among my fellow-men, I feel that I have not 
the right to indulge in luxuries. Humph.” 

And so he ate his dinner with an appetite 
that was not held in check as ordinarily it 
was ; and Mrs. Tripp went into the kitchen 
and thought to herself what an angel Peter 
Baker was, and how thoughtful for others’ 
comfort. 

The little old bachelor sat by his lonely 
fire after he had eaten a good share of the 
turkey, and nearly demolished the mince 
pie, and half devoured the pudding. lie felt 
very comfortable as he sat there, but soon 
the fire began to fade, and the room grew 
cold, and he decided to go to bed. He 
plumped down into the midst of the feathers, 
and pulled the clothes up about his chin till 
all that could be seen of him was his little 
peaked nose and his wide lopping ears un¬ 
der his red flannel night-cap; and he went 
to sleep. 

It seemed to him then that he walked out 
of his bed and out of the window into the 
darkness, and was hurrying along in some 
direction impelled by some unseen influence, 
and after a while he became conscious that 
| he was not alone; that he formed one of a 
great multitude that hurried along with him. 
He went on and on an immeasurable dis- 
I tance in the darkness, and he seemed to have 
a burden on his shoulders that grew heavier 
and heavier with every step, yet go on he 
must, and he was obliged to strain every 
nerve to keep up with the hurrying throng. 
At last a soft mellow light began to glow 
in the heavens, and towards it the shadowy 
army marched. Somo of the throng had 
great burdens like his upon their backs, and 














































PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


151 


some had smaller ones. Some he noticed, 
as the light grew brighter, carried only a lit¬ 
tle flower, or a glass of water, and others 
nothing at all that was visible to him. 

Still they marched onward and upward, 
and still the soft light grew clearer and more 
beautiful, and now he began to see that 
what he had at first taken for fleecy clouds 
driven before the morning sun was light 
diffused from cherubs’ faces, bright with holy 
love. They rose above him, rank on rank, 
pile on pile, visions of beauty beyond mor¬ 
tal ken ; and at last the clouds of angel faces 
opened clearly, and in the midst of all, on 
a throne of gold, surrounded by adoring 
hosts of cherubim and seraphim, sat our Sa¬ 
viour, Christ, the Redeemer. 

All the throng that had come before and 
with Peter Baker went forward, one by one, 
and prostrated themselves before Ilis feet at 
Ilis throne and offered up their gifts. Some 
laid old, worn clothes on the altar placed 
before our Lord, and others laid thereon 
goodly gifts of raiment and food and gold; 
others came tremblingly and sorrowfully 
forward and handed a single cup of cold 
water; others again had nothing to give but 
a few kind words, that somehow seemed to 
take a tangible shape, and they were laid on 
the altar with the other gifts, and a few had 
but some tears which, when laid there, 
sparkled like diamonds; and for each and all 
of these gifts there was a smile of tender 
love, passing belief. Some there were who 
came worn, old, and ragged, and some sweet 
little children who had nothing else to give 
but the hearts they took out of their bosoms, 
warm and palpitating with love, and these 
shone like pure gold when placed on the 
altar. All were immediately transfigured to 
wonderful beauty as soon as laid at Ilis 
feet, which yet bore the marks of the cruel 
nails. 

Peter Baker drew back, and fain would 
hide, and he tried with all his strength to 
cast off’ the terrible load that grew heavier 
and heavier each moment, and at last, when 
all had been forward and laid their offerings 
on the altar, the cherubim and seraphim 
began to whisper in tones that seemed to 
vibrate and pulsate in every fibre of his 
nature. 

“And what have you brought our Lord, 
Peter Baker?” 

“ I have nothing here fit to offer to Him. I 
will go back and bring my offering.” 

“Nay, but ye can travel this road but 
once. What ye have there ye must give.” 

“But this was not for Him. I would 
fain go back.” 

“ What have ye there, Peter Baker?” said 
the Saviour, looking with His sweet eyes 
upon the abject little merchant, who cowered 
and trembled beneath his heavy load. 

“ Oidy some things I was going to give to 
the poor. There is a little flour, and sugar, 


and ham. 1 — T thought I would give them 
something.” 

The sad look grew more sorrowful and 
reproachful, and Peter Baker felt his heart 
fail with fear, but be said, — 

“ I thought they would not know the dif¬ 
ference , — 1 mean, would not dare to com¬ 
plain, and I—I — wish I could go back and 
get a gift worthy to bring you.” 

“ Know ye not that whatsoever yo do 
unto the least of these ye do unto me?” 

Then a chorus of angel voices began a 
hymn of rejoicing, as all the multitude 
clothed suddenly with robes of light and 
without burdens began to mount higher 
and higher, and as they mounted they, too, 
began the hymn of praise, and Peter Baker 
alone was left. The pitying Christ read 
over the whole life history of Peter Baker, 
who was held so good and charitable by his 
neighbors, and He could not find one page, 
nor leaf, nor line, where he had given so 
much as a cup of cold water for charity’s 
sake, and the poor wretch kneeling felt his 
doom, as the sad eyes turned towards him 
again, reproachfully, as he said,— 

“ M r oe unto them that do their alms to be 
seen of men, and who yet withhold a cup 
of cold water for righteousness’ sake.” 

And then Peter Baker found that he was 
sinking downward, weighted with the horri¬ 
ble freight of the musty flour and rusty ham 
and spoiled sugar that he had intended for 
the poor. Down, down, he went, the glori¬ 
ous vision of the blessed Saviour and all the 
angels fading from his strained vision, down 
until black darkness enveloped him like a 
mantle, and the air rushed past him like a 
hurricane. He tried to pray, but he could 
not. The groceries on his back strangled 
the utterance of a prayer, and still he fell 
to deeper depths of obscurity and fearful¬ 
ness, until he struck, and with the shock 
awoke from a dream which some might have 
taken for a nightmare. But he didn’t. He 
had been made to see himself in anew light, 
and that not a favorable one. He could not 
sleep again. Visions of youth, his early 
home, his mother, and his Bible, all mixed 
and mingled until he at last rose and lighted 
a candle, and took down his Bible to read 
over certain parts of it; and somehow it 
seemed to him as if he had never read it 
before, and that the flickering candle gave a 
clearer light than he had ever had before, 
even in church. Ilis heart was opened, and 
through that his eyes. At last he arose 
from his knees, and rubbed an unaccustomed 
moisture from his eyes, and, as daylight was 
coming in the window, he dressed himself 
and hurried to the store, and got there just 
as Edward was opening the door. 

“Edward,” said he, tremblingly, “I sup¬ 
pose you took those groceries last night?” 

“No, sir, I did not, for Dandy was sick, 
and I was afraid to take him out. He is 


better, and I was going to take them now, 
for there will be time before we open the 
store.” 

“Thank God! Thank God!” said the lit¬ 
tle man, with such vehemence that Edward 
thought he had repented of his promised 
gift; but he was astonished when the old 
man cried, with tears running down his 
cheeks,— 

“Edward, I have been a hardened sinner, 
blinding myself and losing my soul in my 
love for money, but God in His mercy has 
opened my cj’es. I must make amends. 
Here, help me pile this wagon with the best 
stuff we have got, and take that instead of 
the other where I said yesterday,— quick, 
now quick! and I will get other things ready, 
and we will go around among our poorest 
customers, and they shall have as good a 
dinner, at least, as I can give them.” 

Edward was spry enough even to suit his 
master, and in less than an hour the two 
loads were delivered, and the two men were 
on their way to carry pleasure and plenty 
into many poor, desolate homes. And Peter 
Baker felt his heart grow warm and young 
again, and he laughed like a boy, though 
tears were near his eyes, too, all the while. 

“ Now,” he said, “ we will go and get some 
breakfast, and I am not going to open store 
to-day. You shall come and be my guest, 
and we will go and take your old grand¬ 
mother and grandfather along, too. Upon 
my word, I haven’t felt so happy or well in 
years.” 

So Edward and the aged couple, whom he 
so dutifully supported out of his slender 
earnings, were installed in the old bachelor’s 
home, and they passed a happy day. The 
now bright little storekeeper seemed a new 
man, and after dinner he rose and made a 
little speech. The substance of it was this: 

“From and after this day Edward is my 
partner in my business, and all the world is 
my relation, and I am going to prove it, and 
I bless Christ our Saviour that lie gave me 
a chance to rid myself of my burden before 
I made my offering on the last great day. 
Amen.” 

You may be sure this speech was applauded 
with thankful tears. 

All this was years ago. To-day, Peter 
Baker is a happy, white-haired old man, 
whose peace is made, and who waits for the 
day when he can render up his gifts to the 
Lord. His feeble steps are guided by Ed¬ 
ward's little children, and they love him, all 
of them, with all their hearts. 

An attorney, about to furnish a bill of 
costs, was requested by his client, a baker, 
“to make it as light as he could.” “Ah,” 
replied the attorney, “ that’s what you say 
to your foreman, but that’s not the way I 
make my bread.” 









152 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


MORNING. 

On, word and thing most beautiful! 
Our yesterday was hard and dull, 

Gray mists obscured its noontide sun, 
Its evening sobbed and wept in rain ; 
But to and fro in hiding night 
Some healing angel swift has run, 

And all is fresh and fair again. 

Oh, word and thing most beautiful! 

The hearts which were of care so full, 
The tired hands, the tired feet, 

So glad of night, are glad of morn ! 
Where are the clouds of yesterday? 
The world is good, the world is sweet, 
And life is new and hope reborn ! 

Oh, word and thing most beautiful! 

Oh, coward soul and sorrowful, 

Which sighs to note the ebbing light 
Give place to evening’s shadowy gray! 
What are these things but parables— 
That darkness heals the wrongs of day, 
And dawning clears all mists of night ? 

Oh, word and thing most beautiful! 

The little sleep our pain to lull, 

The long, soft dusk—then full sunrise! 
To waken fresh and angel fair, 

Life all renewed and griefs forgot, 
Ready for heaven’s glad surprise, 

So Christ, who is our light, be there. 


HISTORICAL COINCIDENCES. 

Admirers of America and Garibaldi may 
be interested to learn that the general was 
born on the 4th of July. Jefferson died on 
the same day, 182G, having thus lived to 
witness the fiftieth or jubilee anniversary of 
the Declaration of Independence, as well as 
a few other things perhaps not equally satis¬ 
factory to a patriotic statesman. 

Months have their properties,—that of 
January being to disagree with kings, 
Charles I. coming to signal grief on the 
30th, and Louis XYI. on the 21st. On 
the other hand, one is bound to admit that 
February is not much more propitious, as 
the deposition of James II. by the Act 
of the Convention of 1G89 (February 13) 
—and the abdication of Louis Philippe 
in 1848 (February 24) may testify. The 
year 1689 naturally recalls 1789, and this is 
only one of the numerous instances in which 
history seems to arrange its chronology 
neatly, and with the kindly intention of i 
helping human memory. Similarly 1215, 
1415, 1815, show a harmonious progression 
of centuries and events,—Magna Charta, 
Agincourt, Waterloo. Our descendants may 
look for great events in 2G15—possibly the 
millennium, which appears to be a good eight j 
hundred years off at the present moment. 
In 1888 expect a great but not irremediable 
disaster, if you all acknowledge the subtle 
influence of numbers. In 1555 the Marian 


persecution was at its height, Ridley and 
Latimer being burned that year; 1GGG is 
marked by the Great Fire of London ; 1777 
by the surrender of Burgoyne at Saratoga. 
Other instances of natural memorce technical 
arc the deaths of the three first Edwards in 
1307, 1327, 1377; while ’77 helps us to re¬ 
member ’99 of the same century, when the 
curse of the bards on the posterity of the 
ruthless king; was fulfilled, and the third 
Edward’s grandson died (perhaps) of starva¬ 
tion. Or we may connect the feeble Richard 
II. with his lion-hearted namesake, and note 
that the one died in 1199 and the other in 
1399. By stretching a point again one can 
make the Thirty Years’ peace end in 1848 
as the Thirty Y r ears’ war was ended in 1G48. 
For the peace can scarcely be said to have 
begun till 1818, when the armies of occupa¬ 
tion marched out of France, and 1848 cer¬ 
tainly broke up the Vienna settlement. 
But the diligent may find many and better 
instances than these of the lore that figures 
conceal. We will conclude with a little fact 
—may it be of happiest omen. Victoria was 
proclaimed queen on the anniversary of the 
great battle of Vittoria (21st of June, 1813— 
37). So appropriate a coincidence, in name 
and fact, was the fit herald of conquest, and 
the boundaries of the empire have been 
pushed forward since 1837. 


OPTICAL INSTRUMENTS. 

It is a great boon to the short-sighted that 
there exist such things as spectacles and 
eye-glasses, by which objects imperceptible 
to the naked eye can be made clearly dis¬ 
tinguishable; and even to those whose sight 
is unimpaired it is agreeable to be brought 
face to face, as it were, with objects which, 
without the use of glasses, could only be 
dimly perceptible. IIow interesting it is to 
the spectator to be able, from his distant 
corner of the theatre, to watch the move¬ 
ments and observe the features of the actor 
on the stage by means of his opera-glass. 
And then what little advance would have 
been made in astronomy and natural history 
without the aid of the telescope or the mi¬ 
croscope. Humanity lies under a great 
obligation to the magnifying-glass. There 
is no quality of impaired vision, short of 
total blindness, that cannot be improved by 
and fitted with suitable glasses. We have a 
large number of expert opticians in Hew 
York ; but if it is desired to obtain an arti¬ 
cle which is at once useful and ornamental, 
there are no better establishments in the 
optical instrument line at which to call than 
that of II. Waldstein, of 41 Union Square, 
New York; and R. k J. Bock, 1016 Chest¬ 
nut Street, Philadelphia. At these old estab¬ 
lishments glasses of all kinds and to suit all 
purposes can be secured at the most reason¬ 
able rates. 


NEW YORK WINTER FASHIONS. 

When winter with its snows and cold is 
upon us, fashion ordains that the richest 
and brightest as well as warmest clothing 
shall be worn, and it is in keeping with all 
things. Furs take rank then as the most 
proper covering; and, apart from the warmth 
they afford, there is something almost be¬ 
yond ordinary felicity upon the face of a 
t lady who has a handsome and fashionable 
fur cloak. There is a great variety of furs 
shown, but few in the streets are seen of 
other than seal-skin, made in the forms of 
sacques and dolmans, or silk, fur-lined circu¬ 
lars, which will be worn this season as much 
as last. The most of them besides being 
lined with squirrel, ermine, or chinchilla, 
have on the outside wide borders and per¬ 
fect fitting collars of coney or pointed 
beaver. The borders are put on in wide 
bands about four inches wide, and set all 
i around the bottom and up the fronts of the 
circular. Ladies who have circulars that 
have no outside trimming can buy these 
bands and apply them, as they are sold in 
widths ready for sewing on. Seal-skin 
sacques can be bought, fashionable in shape 
and good in quality, from 8150 to 8250; 
many are higher priced, but these sums 
represent good, well-made, and handsome 
cloaks from responsible firms. Circulars 
cost from 840 to $80, of heavy silk, lined 
with Siberian squirrel. 

Wraps are made longer and of very heavy 
material, or of cashmere, or silk lined and 
wadded. Fewer dolmans are worn, and the 
long wraps seem likely to entirely supersede 
them. Walking-jackets are to be seen as 
often as any other out-door garment, but 
they are of thick, warm goods. Some very 
pretty and stylish jackets are seen of velvet, 
or plush or velvet cisele. The}’ seem scarcely 
warm enough for the rigorous season, but 
they are lined and wadded, and the wearers 
usually have vests of chamois-skin, which 
are a very excellent protection. With one 
; of those vests a lady can brave a cold winter 
wind with impunity. The stj’les for the 
walking-jackets are neat, jaunty, and rather 
masculine in appearance. They require but 
little trimming, and are very convenient. 

STYLES FOR DRESSES 

have not materially changed since autumn, 
except that dressmakers are trying to make 
the shoulders appear square and the waist 
smaller than has been the mode for several 
years. This is to be regretted, for it is a 
direct violation of the laws of health, and 
ladies will surely do as fashion says. Tho 
draping is higher, and for slender women 
much more bouffante on the hips, and also at 
the back. Long points on the corsage, real 
or simulated, are to be seen both on indoor 
and outdoor costumes, and they give an 
admirable effect. The handsomest dresses 










PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 


displayed for tho winter season are made 
with deep pointed corsages. For tho street, 
the warm woollen cloths in all the fashion¬ 
able colors are seen. Next in favor are tho 
cashmeres, used in combination, and some 
silks, satins, and velvets, and even some cos¬ 
tumes are made entirely of plush, but they 
are not as handsome nor tasteful as when 
plush is made up with other goods. It gives 
an air of a desire on the part of the wearer 
to have a dress that few can afford, and it 
overshoots its own mark. 

For theatres, ladies dress plainly as a gen¬ 
eral rule, and wear ordinary walking-suits, 
with the addition of a bonnet more suited 
than the wide and ordinary walking-hat; 
though those are too frequently seen in such 
places, to the exclusion of the stage by those 
unfortunate enough to happen to sit behind 
the wearer. Small bonnets should be de 
rigueur for theatres. Black is after all most 
worn, though fashion has ordered us colors. 

Reception, dinner, and toilettes for balls 
are made mostly high at the throat, though 
some dresses have square necks, some heart- 
shaped and some slightly opened Y-shape. 
The colors considered most fashionable 
are the different dull greens, browns in all 
shades, reds from scarlet to almost black, 
lavender to royal purple, palest blue to deep 
sapphire, old gold and bright copper, and 
garnet to wine-color and plum-blue. Street 
costumes are always short, very narrow in 
the skirt, and most home dresses are short. 
It is only for grande toilette that long trains 
are worn. Many leading houses show short 
dresses for dancing. 


JEWELRY 

for this season is a decided improvement 
over that of last, being more artistic and 
having less of that morbid fancy for the gro¬ 
tesque, and you will see no pigs among the 
articles of adornment now on exhibition. 
Some of the lace pins are marvels of delicacy 
and good taste; one, where a tiny gold hum¬ 
ming-bird hovers over a bar of gold with 
a diamond suspended in its beak, is really 
beautiful. Pretty ear-rings are of gold; lions’ 
heads exquisitely chased, with diamond eyes 
and a diamond in the mouth. Much jewelry 
is copied from the Egyptian symbols, and 
many very delicate and fine articles are 
shown in Etruscan enamel in ancient designs. 

Watch-chains for ladies are short. Brace¬ 
lets are worn wide or narrow according to 
the wearer’s fancy. Rubies are the favorite 
precious stone this season and preferred to 
diamonds. It is far easier to find a perfect 
diamond than ruby. 

HATS AND BONNETS 

are of beaver-plush, pressed beaver, felt, 
velvet-plush, and some even of seal-skin. 
For trimming, feathers are almost univer¬ 
sally employed to the nearly entire exclusion 
20 


of flowers, though some are seen. The ma¬ 
terials ol which the hats and bonnets are 
made are so rich in themselves as to require 
little trimming, and though feathers are so 
largely employed there is no sameness nor 
monotony about the bonnets. Shaded feath¬ 
ers, from pink to red and pale blue to 
sapphire, are very much worn, as are darker 
shades. The shapes are substantially the 
same as last month. Many beaded lace 
bonnets, white and black, are worn to the¬ 
atres and operas. 

TRIMMINGS FOR COSTUMES 
are of plush, in bands and revers, fringes of 
chenille, beaded guipure, and passementerie, 
embroidery arid lace, either Spanish, Brus¬ 
sels, and Chantilly, or pleatings, ruchings, 
and puffings of the material of the dress. 
A new trimming is of bands of kid. This is 
to be had in all colors and widths, but it is 
mostly used in silver, gray, and fawn. It 
gives a singular, yet withal pretty effect. 
A justaucorps of kid is a sort of corsage 
which shows a pretty figure to even better 
advantage than a Jersey waist. The kid 
justaucorps requires but little trimming: 

| soft lace or embroidery on sleeves, and at 
the throat and at the bottom if desired. 
The bottom is usually united to the skirt. 
It is pretty with a fringe of chenille at the 
bottom. Embossed leather is used on some 
very handsome costumes. One of Madame 
Patti’s costumes of plush has embossed 
leather bands on wrists, and flounces and 
applications of embossed leather on the 
skirt. 

GLOVES 

continue to be worn long to meet the elbow 
sleeves, but the majority of wearers now 
draw them up smooth and straight, as the 
fashion of wrinkling them looked too untidy 
to suit our trim American ladies. Gloves 
for street wear are of thicker material, with 
I fur, principally beaver, at the wrist. 

SHOES 

are made with low heels, double soles, and 
to lace in front or button at sides, and with 
box toes for street wear, but shoes and 
slippers for house wear are made with high 
heels, and as dainty as imagination could 
devise, with bows, buckles, and embroidery 
for ornament. 

LINGERIE 

of all kinds continues the same as during 
the fall, for in the winter months flannel 
suits of underclothes are made so prettily 
| and are so comfortable that none could but 
prefer them. Some are of white, others 
pale pink, blue, or red flannel, embroidered 
with silk. Skirts arc also made of felt, 

! trimmed neatly, and at very moderate 
prices. Quilted silk skirts are much worn, 
and thick striped flannels ol' bright colors 
| are shown for underwear. 


JOURNAL. 153 


HOSIERY 

is in all the fashionable colors, in silk, lisle 
thread, and wool. The stockings should be 
of the same color and shade as the front 
breadth of the dress. Embroidered stock¬ 
ings are not so much worn as formerly, nor 
so much as those of solid color, even on 
dress occasions. 

[For information we are indebted to 
Messrs. Lord & Taylor, McCreery A Co., 
Stern Bros., Smith, Worthington & Co., 
i Harris Bros., and Messrs. Arnold & Con¬ 
stable, of New York; I. M. James & Co., of 
Brooklyn ; and Homer & Colladay, Sharpless 
& Sons, and Darlington & Punk, of Phila¬ 
delphia.] 


OUR GOAL AND GLORY! 

BY LYDIA M. MILLARD. 

As down a hundred stairs we gaze— 

A hundred stairs of time; 

As upward still our eyes we raise, 

As upward still we climb, 

We see the vales and hills behind, 

The vales and hills before ; 

We see the goals we hope to find, 

And sec the goals passed o’er. 

O’er every sea and shore we read, 

“All men are equal born.” 

The noblest thought and noblest deed 
Hath noblest glory worn. 

May every victory we win 
Be won by tireless toil; 

No battle-smoke or battle-din 
Our growing glory foil. 

As long as stars above us shine, 

Or grass beneath shall grow, 

Peace round us shed her light divine. 

And Truth her radiant glow ; 

The God of all the stars and flowers 
Around us throw His shield, 

And make this happy land of ours 
A bloodless battle-field, 

Where Truth shall fight her battles hard, 
Win her triumphant way, 

And Right shall be the brave watchword, 
And conquer every day. 

May this be Freedom’s dearest home, 

Her happiest, holiest shrine ; 

That till to Freedom’s haven we come 
Her fires may deathless shine. 

May every hungry, homeless heart, 
Where’er on earth it beat, 

I Find here a hearthstone always bright, 

A welcome always sweet. 

















154 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 

It is not always sunshine 
In this bright world of ours; 

Sharp thorns and weeds grow thickest 
Amid the fairest flowers; 

In fruits howe’er enticing 

Lurk worm-spots at the core ; 

For each one’s bread and butter 
There is a sanded floor. 

In lustrous silks there’s cotton, 

In flowing tresses rats, 

In ermines, soft and snowy, 

The skins of Thomas cats; 

In Hebe’s form there’s whalebone, 

On Venus’s lips carmine, 

Old boots are thrown in sherry 
To make Madeira wine. 

The best of golden butter 
Is oleomargarine; 

The finest of old brandy 
Is next door to benzine ; 

The fragrant leaf of Cuba 
Is cousin to sauer-kraut; 

Too often are the milkman’s cans 
Replenished at the spout. 

If, then, your reputation 
Proves quite unfit to air, 

Pray, how then does it differ 
From most things seeming fair? 

And why heap maledictions, 

Because through me—no doubt— 

You broke the ’leventh commandment— 
“Thou shalt not be found out!” 


LAURA’S DOCTOR. 

I WAS thoroughly enjoying myself on one 
of nature’s best early-summer mornings; the 
trees were just in their early green, the 
meadows were golden with buttercups, the 
ditches hidden by the moisture-loving wild- 
flowers. 

An old friend had told me of this place, 
with its pretty village, its rustic rectory, and 
glorious trout-stream ; telling me, too, how 
the gentle, kind old rector would, if asked, 
give me leave to make casts from his mead¬ 
ows across to the high bank under which 
the fat speckled trout lay for the pretty, 
dancing May-flies, which flitted up and down 
in wondrous flight, sailing aloft, and floating 
slowly down to the glistening water. 

Continuing along the footpath to where I 
had been told it turned into the copse, on 
passing through which I should find myself 
opposite the rectory garden, where I was go¬ 
ing to ask leave to fish, I stopped short, for 
I had suddenly come in view of a stile, by 
which stood an English maiden, simply 
dressed in hoi land-colored grass-cloth, with 
a plain straw hat covering the dark hair 
gathered in a cluster behind. She was very 


pale, a pallor increased by the black velvet 
tie fastened beneath the little plain collar 
around her neck, and as I first saw her she 
stood with her right hand resting lightly on 
the little stile, while her left was held up as 
if to command silence. 

It was evident that she had heard my ap¬ 
proaching footsteps, for suddenly her fade 
became animated, she clasped her hands to¬ 
gether, a joyous smile overspread her face, 
and she bounded towards me. 

“At last, at last!” she cried, wildly; and 
then, when within a few yards, she stopped 
short, the bright look of animation faded 
away, as if the sunshine had passed from 
her young life, and crossing her hands 
wearily upon her breast, she stood a few 
moments gazing at me as I involuntarily 
raised my soft white hat. 

“No, no, no!” she said, slowly, with a 
sigh ; and looking at me again, wistfully, she 
turned away, crept through an opening be¬ 
side the stile, and was gone. 

“Poor girl,” I said, “there’s a sad story 
attached to her life, I’m sure.” 

I walked on to the stile, crossed the woods, 
leaped another stile, and stood in a pretty 
lane close to a charmingly-kept garden, run¬ 
ning down to the road from a beautiful, 
rustic-looking house, and not many yards 
from me a gray-headed old gentleman in 
black, with a velvet cap on his head, was 
busy, trowel in hand, planting scarlet gera¬ 
niums in one of the beds that dotted the 
velvet lawn. 

lie looked up and started slightly as he 
saw me, then bowing, be came down to the 
rough trellis fence that divided his garden 
from the lane. 

'• A nice morning,” he said, pleasantly, as 
I raised my hat. “ Fishing, I presume?” 

“ A r es,” I said. “ I was going to try.” 

“ And you were going to ask my leave,” 
he said, smiling. 

“ I intended to call after I had been in the 
village, I sa*id, taken somewhat aback. 

“ Did you leave town this morning?” asked 
the old gentleman. 

les, I replied, “ by the first train, and 
walked across from Hautly.” 

“ Then you must be quite ready for break- 
last, he said, referring to his watch. “ It 
will be ready now.” 

Ob, thank you, no,” I stammered, for 
this offer of hospitality to a perfect stranger 
was staggering. - I am going down to the 
mn, and then if you will kindly allow me to 
whip the stream I shall be very glad.” 

“Oh, certainly, certainly!” lie said. “I 
am an old fisherman myself, and I believe 
we of the craft are somewhat Freemasons 
m our way. The May-flies are well on, and 
you will have good sport towards evening— 
not before.” & 

"“'V t01 ™ ls the rustic gate as ho 
spoke, and held it open. 


“ But really—” I stammered. 

“ My dear sir,” said the old gentleman. “I 
lead such a quiet life here that a visitor from 
the great city is most welcome. You will | je 
favoring me by coming in and partaking of 
our humble fare, and besides, you will get 
scarcely anything at the little public-house 
below.” 

This to me seemed quite idylic, but I felt 
bound to refuse, till a glance at my host de¬ 
cided me, and almost before I had recovered 
from my astonishment I was in acosey little 
room, looking out upon a rustic veranda 
clustered with roses just budding, and beino- 
introduced to “my wife,” a pleasant, comely 
old lady, with hair like frosted silver. 

The breakfast-table was spread; there was 
the snowy cloth, the glistening coffee-pot; 
at the other end a bright cover that I was 
sure would reveal ham and eggs; there was 
the golden butter, the delicious-looking crusty 
loaf, and a neat-handed maiden, without any 
fuss, placed an extra knife, fork, plate, and 
chair for me. 

“Tell Miss Laura breakfast is ready,” said 
the old rector. “ She is in the garden.” 
Then turning to me,—“A word to put you at 
your ease,” he said, sadly. “ My poor daugh¬ 
ter suffers with a terrible mental affliction. 
‘Don’t speak to her. She would not answer; 
she rarely even speaks to us.” 

I was quite prepared to see the lady I had 
encountered in the woods glide into the 
room and take her place opposite, and this 
she did without noticing me; and though I 
had been ravenously hungry just before, 
somehow her presence so affected me that I 
made but a poor breakfast. 

As we finished, the poor girl rose and 
glided away again, shortly afterwards fol¬ 
lowed by her mother. 

“Poor girl!” I said, involuntarily, and then 
I started, vexed at my indiscretion, for the 
rector laid bis hand upon my arm, saying 
softly,— 

“ Thank you!” 

He looked at me, as I interpreted it, as 
though he wanted to be questioned, and I 
ventured to say,— 

“ Has she always been so ?” 

“No, no,” said the old man, sadly; “the 
flower was bright and vigorous once, but a 
blight came upon it, and since then it has 
faded slowly till it drooped as you sec it now. 
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done.” 

He said these last words in an almost in¬ 
audible tone, but I caught two or three, and 
was able mentally to fill the rest. 

“I can hardly think it was that,” said the 
old rector, sadly, “but she has faded awa) 
ever since this time three years ago, when a 
gentleman of about your age was down here 
fishing.” 

“ The old story,” I said, bitterly. 

“No, my friend, no; he was staying at a 
little farm close by, and asked leave to fid 1 , 













PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


155 


just as you have, and 1 showed him a trifle 
of hospitality. I believe him to have been 
a gentleman in every sense of the word, and 
at times I think he must have made a strange 
impression on my poor child. He was only 
here for three days, and we have never seen 
him since. Perhaps it was only fancy, and 
my poor girl’s ailment may proceed from 
other causes. But, come, I will show you 
the water.” 

Leading the way, the old gentleman took 
me across the sloping meadows, and left me 
at last by as beautiful a trout-stream as ever 
I saw. 

“There,” he said, “ I won’t stop; but if 
there is no sign of a rise, come and have a 
bit of lunch. We shall dine at two, so as to 
leave you free for the evening, when the 
L'out are sure to come on.” 

Before I could utter a word of protest, he 
was gone; and then, with that delicious 
trout-stream before me, my tackle in my 
hand, and the May-flies darting up and 
down, I, an ardent fisherman, forgot all, and 
sat down upon an old stump, trying to bring 
up old memories—a half-forgotten story— 
told me by quaint Ralph Darley, my old 
friend and companion, who had told me to 
try this water; old Ralph, the misogynist, 
the dry, grumpy old fellow, who had told 
me one night in bis chambers in the Temple, 
in one of his rare bursts of confidence, as we 
sat by the open window smoking, how he 
had once seen a girl whom he could have 
loved with all his heart, but poverty, dread 
of refusal, and moral cowardice had kept 
him back. 

“ I have got it!” I said, suddenly, after 
sitting there for quite an hour, and jumping 
up I looked at my watch and the leaf of a 
time-table. “ Yes, I could do it—catch the 
train up. But could I get by the rectory 
unseen ?” 

I tried and found another way across to 
the lane by which I came; and, making all 
the haste I could, I just panted up to the 
little station as the up-train crawled in. 

Two hours later I was in Ralph’s room, 
where he was poring over a dry brief. 

“ Hullo!” he said, looking up. “ I thought 
you were off fishing.” 

“ Yes,” I said, putting on the gross de¬ 
ceiver; “I did run down to the place you 
told me of.” 

“ Indeed!” he said, looking interested, but 
sinking back, half closing his eyes, with a 
sad smile upon his lip, which seemed to me 
to say, “ Ah ! if that could have been.” 

“ Yes,” I continued, “the trout are on 
wonderfully, May-flies in abundance. I 
hadn’t the heart, though, to fish alone, and 
so I came back to fetch you without wetting 
a line. Come, let’s start by the first train in 
the morning. You make plenty of money 
now. Have a day.” 

His eyes sparkled as he grasped my hand. 


“ This is kind of you, old fellow. I should 
enjoy it above all things, and—yes, I could 
spare a day. But no—no,” he said, sadly. 

“ 1 won’t go.” 

“Nonsense!” I cried. “You shall go!” 

“No,” he said. “That place is associated 
with something very depressing to my mind. 

I can’t go!” 

“ My dear Ralph,” 1 said, “I have come 
back on purpose to fetch you, and go you 
must.” 

My persistence prevailed, and, trembling 
for the success of my plan to such an extent 
that I lay awake all night for fear that I 
should miss the train, I arose and took my 
bath at four; got Ralph off; and we ran 
down by the same train as I had gone by 
on the previous morning, my friend growing 
more silent and depressed as we reached the 
station and walked towards the rectory. 

“It is just three years since I was down 
here,” he said, sadly, as we approached the 
copse. “How sweetly the birds sing!” 

I manoeuvred so that he should go first, 
having for excuse the narrowness of the 
dew-spread path; and as I hoped, so it fell 
about; for, letting him get a few yards in 
advance, I hung back as Ralph turned the 
corner by the stile, when there was a wild 
cry, a sharp ejaculation, and I saw poor 
Laura literally leap to bis breast and nestle 
there, exclaiming, “At last! at last!” 

“ My poor girl,” he cried, in faltering tones, ; 
astounded—delighted—and ended by clasp¬ 
ing her tightly to him, as she exclaimed joy- 
ously,— 

“ It has been so long, but I knew you would 
come at last.” 

“Here; quick ! quick !” cried Ralph. “She 
has fainted.” 

It was quite true; and between us we 
carried the poor girl to the rectory, from 
whence the gardener went galloping oft' on 
the rector’s cob for the doctor, three miles 
away. 

But Laura wanted no doctor; and, a short 
time after, I left her lying on the sofa, hold¬ 
ing Ralph’s hand tightly in both others, as 
he knelt by her side, telling her again and 
again how he had always loved her, but had 
never dared to hope; words that made her 
eyes brighten and her heart palpitate with 

j°y- 

“And this is why you didn’t come back 
yesterday,” said the old gentleman, with his 
voice shaking as he clung to my hand. 

“And we—we—we kept the ducks till 
they were quite spoiled,” said the old lady. 
“Oh, dear! oh, dear! I don’t know what 
I’m saying—only, God bless you for this! 
God bless you for this!” and she threw her 
arms round my neck, and kissed me as if I 
had been her son. 

I ran away at last, I felt so ready to act 
like a child; and the basket of trout I killed 
that day was a marvel. 


It was getting dark when I strolled back, 
heavily laden, to the rectory, to hear that 
the doctor had been there and— 

“ Smiling, sir; smiling,” said the old rector, 
as I remembered that I thought she wanted 
none. 

And I was right; for Laura—I am privi¬ 
leged to call my dear old friend’s wife by her 
Christian name—soon grew strong and well, 
her mental weakness passing away with her 
return to bodily health. They have a charm¬ 
ing cottage near the rectory, where I stay 
when I go down to fish ; and they have four 
little girls, who always call me uncle; but 
when there is a boy, he is to be called in my 
honor. 


SUPERSTITIONS. 

Bayard’s Leap. —On the great Roman 
road from Leicester to Lincoln, about four 
miles from Sleaford, is a spot called Bayard’s 
Leap, where are placed three stones about 
thirty yards apart, and the legend told by 
the peasantry is that a valiant knight was 
riding past, when the witch who haunted 
the place sprung behind him upon his horse’s 
back, named Bayard, and the animal in pain 
and terror made these three terrific bounds 
and unhorsed the fiend. This tale has been 
in existence from time immemorial, and the 
name of the horse evidently proves a remote 
origin, probably Norman. 

Among the miners in Cornwall a super¬ 
stition greatly prevails, namely, that whist¬ 
ling below ground brings “ evil spirits” 
among them, and for that reason you never 
hear a miner whistling whilst under ground. 

Finger-nails. —It is believed throughout 
the County of Kent, that if nails be pared 
upon a Sunday the individual who owns them 
will be unlucky during the following week. 

Ciiarm for Warts. —The charm consists 
in rubbing the warts with some small stones, 
which are to be wrapped up in a piece of 
paper and thrown down at some cross-roads. 
The person who picks up the parcel will 
have the warts, which will from that time 
leave the first person. 

In the Highlands, if a stranger looks at a 
cow, the common people think that the ani¬ 
mal will waste away from the “ evil eye,” 
and they offer you some of the milk to 
drink, by which the}' suppose that all evil 
consequences will be averted. 

Near to Wooler, in Northumberland, on 
the flanks of the Cheviots, there is a spring 
of water locally known as Pin Well. The 
country maids, in passing this spring, drop 
a crooked pin into the water. 

In Westmoreland there is also a Pin Well, 
into the waters of which rich and poor drop 
a pin in passing. 

The superstition, in both cases, consists in 
a belief that the well is under the charge of 












15G 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


a fairy, and that it is necessary to propitiate 
the little lady by a present of some sort; 
hence the pin as most convenient. The 
crooked pin of Northumberland may be ex¬ 
plained upon the received hypothesis in 
folk-lore that crooked things are lucky 
things, as a “ crooked sixpence,” etc. 

Cure eor the Ague.— About a mile from 
Berkhampstead, in Hertfordshire, on a spot 
where two roads cross each other, are a few 
oak-trees called cross oaks. Here aguish 
patients used to resort and peg a lock of 
their hair into one of these oaks, then, by a 
sudden wrench, transfer the lock from their 
heads to the tree, and return home with the 
full conviction that the ague had departed 
with the severed lock. Persons now living 
affirm that they have often seen hair thus left 
pegged into the oak, for one of these trees 
only was endowed with the healing power. 

Weather Prophecy.— It is a common 
opinion in the midland counties that if the 
oak comes into leaf before the ash, a dry 
summer may be expected, and a wet summer 
if the ash is the first. A wet spring is gen¬ 
erally, I believe, favorable to the earlier 
leaves of the ash, which are retarded by a 
dry one. 


“The dregs of superstition, it seems, are 
still remaining amongst us, a remarkable 



at the gallows. A young woman, who had 
a wen on her neck, was held up in a man’s 
arms, and the hand of one of the hanirinir 
malefactors was several times rubbed over 
it with much ceremony, so that if it should 
please God to remove the complaint a mira¬ 
cle will be imputed to the wonder-working 
hand of a dead thief.”— From an old 7 iews- 
paper (1759.) 

Cure for Cramps.— In the neighborhood 
of Penzance, the following is considered an 
infallible cure for cramps: “On going to 
rest, put your slippers under the bed and 
turn the soles upwards.” 

Valentine Morn.— You’ll marry the man 
or the woman, as the case may be, that you 
meet the first on Valentine morn. 

To give away a knife, a razor, or a pair of 
scissors, to a friend, is to cut their acquaint¬ 
ance, for you are sure to fall out after ; there¬ 
fore you must take money for them, be it 
ever so little. 

To Dream of your -Sweetheart. —Take 
the blade-bone of a rabbit and stick nine 
pins in it, and then put it under your pillow 
and you will be sure to see the object of your 
affections. 

To cut a child’s nails before it is twelve 
months old is unlucky. 

If you wish well to your neighbor’s child, 
when it first comes to your house you must 
give it a cake, a little salt, and an egg. 


It is considered unlucky lor a person to 
walk under a ladder, unless he spits three 
times. 

To spill salt on the table is considered un¬ 
lucky.— Notes and Queries. 

Merry IIewid. —There is a curious custom 
prevalent in some parts ol South Wales. On 
Christmas Eve a horse’s head, decorated with 
ribbons and carried by a party ot men, is 
taken around to the different houses in the 
neighborhood. The men sing a Welsh song, 
to which the people in the house must reply in 
a similar manner, or give the party admission 
and regale them with ale, etc. This custom is 
called “Merry IIewid,” and, commencing on 
Christmas Eve, continues for two or three 
weeks. 

Washing in the Same Water. —If two 
persons wash in the same tub together, they 
will be sure to “ fall out” before they go to 
bed. 

An Itching Palm. —That if the palm of 
your hand itches, you will be sure to get 
some money either given or paid to you 
soon. Brutus said his friend had an itching 
palm ; that is, he loved money. 

Odd Numbers. —They are lucky, except 
the number thirteen, which is the most un¬ 
lucky of numbers. 

Ear-burning. —If your right ear burns, 
some one is speaking well of you ; but if 
your left ear burns, they are slandering 
you. 

Cuckoo-Penny. —If when you hear this 
bird you turn a penny over in your pocket, 
you will never be without one till you hear 
him again. 

Crickets.—I t is unlucky to kill a cricket. 

Beetles.— If you kill a beetle it is sure to 
rain. 

Spider. —There is a small black spider 
that often gets on your clothes or hats. 
This is called a “ money-spider,” and if you 
kill it you will be sure to suffer for it by a 
lack of the needful.— Notes and Queries. 


TRUNKS. 

The love of beauty and elegance which 
characterizes Americans necessarily induces 
the production of the finest and most per¬ 
fect articles in all branches of manufactures, 
and it has not been without its effect in the 
manufacture of trunks and such like accom¬ 
paniments of the traveller or tourist. A 
shabby trunk or valise is a mortifying object, 
and it is not calculated to convey a favorable 
recommendation. There are many beautiful 
articles in this line now made of leather, and 
if it is desired to examino the different kinds, 
a visit should be paid to the manufactory of 
F. II. Osborne, at 335 Sixth Avenue, New 
York, or at tho branch store, corner of For- 
tictli Sfiect and Sixth Avenue. 


THE SCHOOL-BOY. 

We bought him a box for his books and 
things, 

And cricket bag for his bat; 

And he looked the brightest and best of 
kings, 

Under his new straw hat. 

We handed him into the railway train 
With a troop of his young compeers, 
And we made as though it were dust and 
rai n 

Were filling our eyes with tears. 

We looked in his innocent face to see 
The sigh of a sorrowful heart; 

But he only shouldered his bat with glee 
And wondered when they would start. 

’Twas not that he loved not as heretofore, 
For the boy was tender and kind; 

But his was a world that was all before, 
And ours was a world behind. 

’Twas not that his fluttering heart was 
cold, 

For the child was loyal and true; 

And the parents love the love that is old, 
And the children the love that is new. 

And we came to know that love is a 
flower 

Which only groweth down ; 

And we scarcely spoke for the space of an 
hour 

As we drove back through the town. 

—•Episcopalian. 


WHAT A PLANT DID. 

A little plant was given to a sick girl. 
In trying to take care of it the family made 
changes in their way of living. First, they 
cleaned the window, that more light might 
come to its leaves; then, when not too cold, 
they would open the window, that fresh air 
might help the plant to grow. Next, the 
clean window made the rest of the room 
look so untidy that they used to wash the 
floor and walls, and arrange the furniture 
more neatly. This led the father of the 
family to mend a broken chair or two, which 
kept him at home several evenings. After 
the work was done be stayed at home, instead 
of spending his leisure at a tavern; and the 
money thus saved went to buy comforts for 
them all. Thus the little plant brought a 
real, as well as a physical, blessing.— Chris¬ 
tian at Work. 


Grandfather to his hopeful,—“My son, 
which would you rather have when you go 
home—a little brother or sister?” Grand¬ 
son ,—“ Well, I would rather have a little 
pony.” 






















PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


• 157 


THE WORLD’S WOMEN. 

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 

Harriet Beecher Stowe, daughter of 
Rev. Lyman Beecher, D.D., was born in 
Litchfield, Connecticut, June 14, 1812. She 
was in many respects a very remarkable 
child, having a retentive memory, and at the 
early age of eleven her compositions showed 
mature thought and command of language. 
She was married in 1836, to Professor Cal¬ 
vin E. Stowe, a man of learning and distinc¬ 
tion. Before her marriage she had contrib¬ 
uted to the literature of the day as a writer 
of great promise. “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” 
published in book form in 1852, established 
her fame and fortune. 

GAIL HAMILTON. 

Mary Abigail Dodge (Gail Hamilton) 
was born in Hamilton, Mass. She was 
brought up in the country, where she could 
romp and play as well as study, laying the 
foundation for that strong, vigorous intellect 
which developed in her writings. 

LYDIA MARIA CHILD. 

Lydia Maria Child Avas born at Med¬ 
ford, Mass., in February, 1802. Her father, 
Convers Francis, was a I raker at Medford, 
where he first introduced the famous “ Med¬ 
ford crackers.” Her first novel Avas written 
Avhen she was twenty-two, called “Hobo- 
mok.” The second novel, “The Rebels; or, 
Boston before the Revolution,” showed more 
vigor and originality, and had great success. 
In 1828, she Avas married to David Lee 
Child, a lawyer of Boston. She wrote 
many valuable books and took an active 
part in the Anti-Slavery question. 

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 

Florence Nightingale is the daughter 
of English parents, born at Florence, in the 
year 1819. She had the advantage of a lib¬ 
eral education. It is the custom of the 
daughters of wealthy families in England to 
employ part of their leisure in visiting the 
poor and ministering to the wants of the 
sick and infirm; and e\ 7 en as a little girl, 
Florence had an extreme fondness for nurs¬ 
ing the sick, and ready sympathy Avith the 
aflfiicted. She studied the art of nursing, 
and Avas a great reformer in the nursing as 
carried on in asylums and hospitals of Lon¬ 
don and other places. When the war be¬ 
tween Russia and England broke out in 
1854, there was but one woman in England 
fitted by character and education to head 
the band of nurses required to tend the sick 
and dying soldiers. Other ladies of birth 
and fortune accompanied her, and on the 
24th of October, 1854, Florence Nightingale, 
with a corps of thirty-seven nurses, left Eng¬ 
land for the Crimea. They arrived none 
too soon, for in a few hours the wounded 
Averc brought in in great numbers from the 

O O 


bloody field of Inkerman. She remained in 
the Crimea a year and ten months, and re¬ 
turned to England an invalid for life. Fifty 
thousand pounds were raised as a fund to 
enable Miss Nightingale to establish an insti¬ 
tution for the training of nurses. She ac¬ 
cepted the trust, and has been employed ever 
since in labors connected with it. The Sul¬ 
tan of Turkey sent her a magnificent brace¬ 
let, and the Queen of England gave her a 
cross blazing Avith gems. 

FANNY FERN. 

Sara Payson Willis (Fanny Fern) was 
born in Portland, Maine, in 1811. She Avas 
educated at Hartford. Soon after leaving 
school, she married Mr. Eldrcdge, of Boston, 
and a feAv years later was left a widoAV with 
three little children. In 1851 her first essay 
Avas published, Avhich proved a “hit,” and 
from this time she could command her own 
price for her labor. It is said that scA T enty 
thousand copies of “ Fern Leaves” Avere sold 
in this country, which, Avith her “Second 
Series of Fern Leaves” and “Little Ferns 
for Little Friends,” reached the enormous 
number of one hundred and thirty-two thou¬ 
sand. Her novels, “ Ruth Hall” and “Rose 
Clarke,” met with the same success, and 
were translated into French and German. 
In 1856 Fanny Fern Avas again married to 
Mr. James Parton, of New York, also a bril¬ 
liant writer. 

LUCIIETIA MOTT. 

Lucretia Mott Avas born in the island of 
Nantucket in the year 1793. In 1804 the 
family removed to Boston. Her parents 
were Friends, and at the age of fourteen she 
was sent to the Friends’ Boarding-school in 
New York, where she remained several 
years, and at eighteen married James Mott. 
Her sympathy was early enlisted for the 
poor slave, for whose Avelfare she ever after 
took an active part. She Avas also a great 
temperance reformer. The unequal condi¬ 
tion of women in society much interested 
her. The injustice of paying them half as 
much as men for the same work, Avas so 
apparent, that she resolved if possible to 
accomplish a revolution in their favor. She 
was a very remarkably gil'ted minister 
among the Society of Friends, and a Avoman 
of large benevolence. 

O 

ROSA BONIIEUR. 

Rosa Bonheur Avas born in Bordeaux, 
France, in 1822. Her father Avas an artist 
of some power, but poverty kept him in the 
humbler walks of the profession, lie lived 
to see his daughter famous as a painter. 
She has overcome obstacles that few women 
would have the courage to battle with. Her 
great power is in painting animals, in which 
she has no superior. Upon her great picture 
the “ Horse Fair” she spent eighteen months’ 


close labor, twice a week going to the horse- 
market studying the animals. This picture 
was bought by the French Government. 
Rosa Bonheur is a master. She has attained 
that proud eminence Avhich many men of 
decided power have not been able to Avin, 
and is undoubtedly the greatest female artist 
who has ever lived. 


EUGENIE, EX-EMPRESS OF FRANCE. 




The ex-Empress Eugenie is daughter of 
the Count of Teba and Montijo. English and 
Spanish blood mingles in her veins. The 
death of her father, when quite young, left 
her to the training of a very judicious and 
highly-educated mother. She Avas born on 
the 5th of May, 1826, and on the 27th of 
January, 1853, Avas married to Louis Napo¬ 
leon, Emperor of France. The City of Paris 
A T oted her upon her marriage five hundred 
thousand dollars for the purchase of dia¬ 
monds. She gratefully accepted the munifi¬ 
cent gift, but first obtained the consent of 
the donors that she should devote it to found¬ 
ing a charitable institution for the education 
of young girls of the Avorking classes, Avhich 
she Avatched over Avith heartfelt sympathy, 
for her sisters of humbler birth. As Avife, 
mother, and empress, history must award 
to Eugenie the highest merit. 




HARRIET G. IIOSMER. 


Harriet G. Hosmer, the sculptor, was 
born in Massachusetts in 1830, and earl} T 
gave evidence of rare genius. Inheriting a 
j A r ery delicate constitution, she was encour- 
I aged by her father, Avho Avas a physician, to 
live almost out of doors, roAving, riding, and 
shooting, and thus developed into a robust 
Avoman. Her first original ideal work Avas 
“ Hesper.” She did every stroke of the 
work with her own hands, except knocking 
off the corners of the block of marble. It 
| has been said by acknowledged judges that 
if her statue of the “Sleeping Faun” had 
been discovered among the ruins of Rome 
or Pompeii, it Avould have been pronounced 
one of the finest of Grecian statues. 

Legal perseverance, Avith all its Avondrous 
ingenuity, is not ahvays successful in elicit¬ 
ing the desired answer. “ Was there any¬ 
thing in the glass?” asked a counsel of a 
somewhat reluctant Avitness. “ Well, there 
Avas something in it,” he replied. “ Ah, I 
thought Ave should get at it in time,” ob¬ 
served the triumphant questioner. “Noav, 
my good fellow, tell us Avhat the something 
Avas.” The “good felloAv” took time to think 
over it, and at last he drawled out, “It Avere 
a spoon!” 

“Pa,” said a little four-year-old, “there’s 
a poor man out there that Avould give any¬ 
thing to sec you.” “ Who is it, my son ?” 
| “ It is a blind man.” 









158 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


WOMEN A3 PHYSICIANS. 

From the earliest ages woman has had 
the care of the sick, without regard to sex. 
Her vigilance and devotion have done, as 
nurse, what the highest art of the “ medicine 
man” must have failed to accomplish alone. 
To the United States belongs the credit of 
first admitting women to practice as phy¬ 
sicians. Among those who have proved 
their right, by their efficiency and success, 
are 

MRS. CLEMENCE S. LOZIER, M.D. 

Mrs. Lozier was born in 1813, at Plain- 
field, New Jersey. In 1849, she attended 
her first course of lectures at the Central 
New York College, Rochester. In surgery 
required by the diseases of her sex, she has 
shown peculiar skill, having performed over 
a hundred operations in the removal of vital 
tumors. 

MISS ELIZABETH BLACKWELL, M.D. 

Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell was born in 
Bristol, England, in 1821, but her father re¬ 
moved his family to the United States, and 
settled in New York, in 1831. After pre¬ 
paring herself by closely studying in the 
office of a physician for some time, she was 
refused admission to the medical schools of 
New York, Philadelphia, and Boston, and 
many others, until, at Geneva, the faculty 
and students unanimously voted her ad¬ 
mission. She entered in 1846, and graduated 
in 1848; the first woman who received the 
medical degree in the United States. Her 
sister, Dr. Emily Blackwell, entered the 
Rush Medical College, at Chicago, in 1852, 
and graduated at Cleveland College, in 1854. 
The “New York Infirmary for Women and 
Children” was the outgrowth of their united 
efforts. 

MISS HARRIET K. HUNT, M.D. 

Dr. Harriet K. Hunt was born in Boston, 
in 1805. In 1853, The Female Medical Col¬ 
lege, at Philadelphia, conferred upon Miss 
Hunt the honorary degree of M.D. After 
many long years of experience in successful 
practice, she had well earned it. As far 
back as 1835 she had been associated with 
her sister in study and practice. 

MRS. HANNAH E. LONGSHORE, M.D. 

Dr. Hannah E. Longshore was born in 
Maryland, in 1819. Her parents, Samuel 
and Pauline Myers, were members of the 
Society of Friends. She was married early, 
and spent the subsequent six years on 
a country farm, in the care of her family 
and in domestic duties, after which the 
opportunity offered to resume her favorite 
study, and in 1850 she was one of the ten 
members who composed the first graduating 
class from the Female Medical College at 
Philadelphia. 

Wc might add to our list of women in all 


the professions and arts, who have proved 
their capacity, intellectually and physically, 
to compete with men, till books would mul¬ 
tiply without end, but great honor is due to 
the noble pioneers in those paths which 
were strewn with difficulties and insults; 
and, but for their heroic courage, they must 
have stopped on the threshold of their glori¬ 
ous labors. 


A GAME OF HEARTS. 

Morton Levyllian looked into his com¬ 
panion’s face and wondered if she really 
possessed a heart! Or was she only—as had 
been said—a creature of intellect, one who 
required not, and wished not, the most 
precious of all life’s blessings—love ? Rather 
a difficult question! and her beautiful, 
queenly countenance, with its lustrous brown 
eyes and delicately-chiselled features, did not 
serve to satisfy his doubts. 

He was accustomed to be a favorite among 
the gentler sex. Wealthy, intellectual, and 
handsome, he was very naturally appropri¬ 
ated by manoeuvring mammas and mar¬ 
riageable daughters. Clara Yane was unlike 
the women with whom ho had been thrown 
in contact. Although among, she was not 
one of them, and her indifference hurt him 
more than he cared to confess, even to him¬ 
self. So this evening, as they wandered to¬ 
gether through the brilliantly-illuminated 
rooms of a fashionable devotee, he asked 
carelessly, albeit his eyes rested searchingly 
upon her face,— 

“Miss Yane, do you believe in love?” 

She laughed, and, although her dusky 
cheek crimsoned a little, displayed not the 
slightest discomposure as she answered,— 

“No,—at least not as you do.” 

That sentence implied a certain amount of 
something that the gentleman scarcely liked. 
How should she know whether their beliefs 
were similar? 

“Indeed!” he commented, somewhat dryly. 
“Would it be impertinent in me to inquire 
what your belief really is?” 

She bit her lip. 

“I make no pretensions to understanding 

A O 

any one’s ideas upon this or any other sub¬ 
ject better than they themselves do. I only 
know that my own opinion of love is very 
different from the latter-day sentiment which 
is now dignified by that name.” 

lie smiled provokingly. 

“ So is mine. We agree thus far, at any 
rate. Perhaps, were wo to compare notes, 
the similarity would exist still further.” 

“Scarcely probable,” she answered, calmly. 
“ But it is not an interesting topic, and as it 
is of no consequence whether wo consider it 
in the same light or no, I propose wo discuss 
some other subject.” 

Of course after that the conversation was 
changed. 


“Confound it! what’s the use?” he mur¬ 
mured, sadly, that night—or rather that 
morning—after returning home. “Here I 
am, fairly bewitched after a woman who, if 
report speaks truly, is not capable of feeling 
a particle of affection for any man, and who 
has demonstrated beyond peradventure her 
utter indifference to me. In love with an 
iceberg! That’s what’s the matter! But I 
won’t make a fool of myself any longer! 
She can go her way and I’ll go mine!” 

Whether this resolution would have been 
kept or no, is a question that must forever 
remain unsettled, as the next day Miss Yane 
had left town,—gone, no one knew where; 
to remain, none knew how long. 

But we, being wiser than the majority of 
folks, may follow her away from the crowded 
metropolis to a beautiful country-seat down 
in Kent, where, disgusted alike with the 
world and herself, she had sought refuge for 
the summer months with her young married 
friend, Mary Thurston. 

“Now, Clara,” said this young lady, as 
they sat together some few evenings after 
Miss Yane’s arrival, “ of course you know 
how glad I am to have you here, and all that 
sort of thing; but what in the world pos¬ 
sessed you to come? For, when I saw you 
last, you gave me no encouragement to hope 
for this visit.” 

“Well, Mary, to tell the truth, I hadn’t 
the slightest idea of paying it two weeks 
ago ; but-” 

“But what?” eagerly asked her com¬ 
panion. “ You were not involved in any 
love-affair, were you ? I heard something 
of a serious kind of flirtation you were hav¬ 
ing with somebody. It didn’t become too 
serious, did it?” 

“Yes, it did!” answered her guest, im¬ 
petuously, startled out of her usual reticence 
by that strange longing for sympathy which 
sometimes seizes the proudest of us. “I be¬ 
came acquainted with a man endowed with 
extraordinary gifts of mind and person, and 
1 undertook to teach him a lesson. But, 
alas, for human volition! I learned the 
lesson!” 

“ Does he know it?” interrupted her friend, 
anxiously. 

“Know it?” she repeated in scorn. “No! 
nor never will! And that is the reason I 
have come to you so unexpectedly.” 

The conversation was here put an end to 
by the entrance of Captain Thurston. 

“A letter for you, Mary; from Morton, 
I fancy,” he said, carelessly tossing it into 
her lap. 

The quick blood rushed into Clara’s face. 
Even the name caused her heart to flutter 
strangely; but neither of her friends noticed 
her agitation, both being engrossed in their 
missives. 

“Oh, dear I” sighed Mrs. Mary, half un¬ 
consciously. 









PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


159 


Clara and her husband looked up in sur- | 
prise. Her face was glowing joyfully, albeit 
her eyes wore full of tears. 

“What’s the matter?” they asked in a 
breath. 

“ Oh, nothing much !” she replied. “ Only 
I’m so glad. Clara, I never-knew that you 
were acquainted with my half-brother Mor¬ 
ton Levy Ilian.” 

Poor Clara! Iler face, even to the roots 
of her hair, was scarlet; but she made no 
reply, and her friend continued, remorse¬ 
lessly, “He is coming to pay us a visit, and 
we may expect him every moment.” 

All the color fled swiftly from Clara’s 
cheek. 

“ Now, don’t be a goose!” whispered Mary, 
softly. “Just read this.” 

So Clara read as follows: 

“My dear Sister, — I am sick of the 
‘Great Metropolis,’ sick of life, and sick of 
myself; am fast becoming, in fact, a mis¬ 
anthrope— sick of everything. So, to im¬ 
prove this woful condition of affairs, shall 
start to-night for your sweet, pretty country 
home. For the last few months I have 
made a fool of myself by falling in love, and 
that is a very serious business for a man of 
my peculiar temperament, I can assure you. 
Did you, during your visit here, ever know 
a Miss Clara Vane ? I was in France at the 
time, you remember. Well, we have been 
indulging in what Dame Grundy would call 
‘ a pleasant flirtation,’ and, for the first time 
in his life, your brother professes himself 
conquered. People say she has no heart. 
That I don’t believe. It is utterly impossi¬ 
ble so glorious a woman should be minus 
that most feminine appendage. But one 
thing is certain, she has no heart for me, 
and that has left me without a heart for 
anything else. (Please don’t think this is 
intended for a pun—I am in anything but a 
punning humor.) As you know, I am not 
in the habit of proclaiming my miseries, 
and hate pity above all things. Burn this 
as soon as read, keep all information con¬ 
tained herein to yourself, and don’t say 
‘woman’ to me while I remain. Lovingly, 
your brother, Morton.” 

Even as Clara read, a tall figure darkened 
the doorway. 

“ Oh, Morton !” shouted his sister, joyfully 
advancing with outstretched hands. 

After greeting the husband and wife, the 
new-comer glanced questioningly over at the 
silent lady standing in the shadow ol the 
room. 

“ Clara, here is my brother,” said Mrs. 
Thurston, smiling. “I believe, however, 
you are already acquainted with one an¬ 
other.” 

Thus urged, Clara advanced. 

“Miss Vane!—and here!” said the gen¬ 


tleman, in amazement. Then, recovering 
himself, “Excuse me, but this meeting was 

so utterly unexpected that I-” and here 

his glance fell upon the letter which she still 
held. 

“ Mary gave it to me,” she stammered, 
explainingly, interpreting aright his mute, 
astonished look. 

lie smiled. Some way her embarrassment 
put him very much more at ease. 

“She did? Well, what do you think of 
it?” 

She looked round for assistance from some 
quarter, but husband and wife had left the 
room. So, very unwillingly, she answered,— 

“ I don’t know.” 

“You don’t? Well,” endeavoring to look 
into the eyes which so pertinaciously sought 
the floor, “are you sorry for me?” 

“Ho,” very low; and the next moment 
“icy Clara Vane” was clasped close in a 
pair of manly arms, from which she made 
not the slightest motion to extricate herself. 


ENGLISH ARISTOCRATIC SPORT. 

The London Lancet calls attention to the 
| perilous and unsportsmanlike character of 
stag-hunting, as practised under royal patron¬ 
age. It is, or should be, well known that 
the animal whose terror-stricken flights af¬ 
ford the excuse for this diversion, in which 
dames of high degree, not less than noble¬ 
men, gentlemen of all ranks, take part, is in 
no rational or constructional sense “ game.” 
The deer unearthed for a run before Her 
Majesty’s hounds are tame brutes, little bet¬ 
ter for sporting purposes than calves. They 
are “ trained” for the pastime by being hal¬ 
loed and scared with whip and dog round a 
paddock until sufficient!}’ timid to fly when 
pursued. It is difficult to start them, and 
they suffer in the terrible ordeal, as we know 
from the painful experiences of last season. 
In taking part in this tame stag-hunting, 
the votaries of a silly fashion incur great 
risks. The accidents are many, and the 
sport is nil. Huntsmen fall in crossing 
ploughed fields, and topping light fences. 
Ladies are thrown and dragged by their 
habits, collar-bones are broken and shoulders 
are dislocated, and other severe injuries sus- 
1 tained in the practice of this weak and un- 
i worthy amusement. Women arc always out 
of place in the hunting-field, but never more 
obviously than when wanton cruelty is in¬ 
flicted for the sole gratification of a whim 
which has more of vanity than earnestness 
in its motive impulse. It is probably useless 
to appeal to the finer feelings of humanity 
in this matter, but it should surely be possi¬ 
ble to move men with sportsmanlike instincts 
to discountenance an amusement which in¬ 
volves needless barbarity, and is not sport. 


CARPETS. 

Carpets were introduced from Persia. 
The Persians arc not particularly lavish of 
furniture. Neither chairs, tables, sideboards, 
pictures, nor the knick-knacks with which 
we fill our houses, are to be seen in Persian 
homes. But there are carpets to walk upon, 
carpets to lie upon, and carpets to sleep 
upon. There are tents covered with carpet, 
and even houses of carpet. It is surprising 
that Europe was so slow to imitate them 
and introduce the carpet. European’s, in¬ 
deed, seem to have been, a few centuries 
ago, slow in everything. It is incredible to 
think of them, in the middle ages, having 
nothing to cover their palace floors with but 
hay and straw. In England James I. gave 
£3000 to encourage the manufacture of car¬ 
pets. In France, in 1G64, Colbert, the min¬ 
ister, turned his attention to it, and France 
soon took the lead in this line for a while. 
Carpets have been brought up to a high 
pitch of perfection in the United States, 
both in respect to pattern and coloring. The 
best carpets can be obtained at W. A J. 
Sloan, 649, 651, and 655 Broadway, New 
York; J. W. Crosslcy, 740 and 742 Broad¬ 
way, New York; Shepard Knapp, 189 and 
191 Sixth Avenue, New York; J. & J. Dob¬ 
son, 40 and 42 West Fourteenth Street, New 
York; McCallum, Crease & Sloan, 1012 and 
1014 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Our 
carpet-stores, many of which are of marble, 
may be reckoned among the finest buildings 
of the kind in existence. 


PERFUMERY AND SOAPS. 

Perfumery has now become an indis¬ 
pensable element of the toilet, and there is 
'nothing which is so largely patronized for 
presents and so highly prized by the donees. 
Perfumery is now put up in such beautiful 
boxes that these are small treasures in them¬ 
selves. Few things are more suitable as 
gifts for the coming holidays—Christmas 
and New Year—than a box of the 'many- 
colored scented soaps and satin-lined per¬ 
fume-boxes to be found at our principal 
perfumers. At Messrs. Colgate & Co.’s, 
Nos. 53 and 55 John Street, New York, and 
at X. Bazin’s Sons, Cherry Street. Philadel¬ 
phia, the largest and most varied assortment 
of fine perfumery and soaps can always be 
obtained. For the best family soaps, a visit 
should be paid to Messrs. James Pile, and 
Babbitt’s, of Washington Street, New York. 


“ What is the best remedy,” asked a 
preacher of a shrewd observer, “for an in¬ 
attentive audience?” “Give them some¬ 
thing to attend to,” was the significant 
reply. “ Hungry sheep will lookup to the 
rack if there is any hay in it.” 























1G0 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


THE CLOCK ACROSS THE WAY. 

BY LYDIA M. MILLARD. 

Through the dark, and through the cold, 
I hear one solemn story told, 

Never ending, always true, 

Ever old, forever new; 

All night long, and all the day, 

I hear the clock across the way, 

Under the stars, and over the snow, 
Sound those thrilling tones so slow. 

Sounds its deep melodious chime 
Brave and faithful, clear, sublime, 

Like doxology and psalm, 

Like a benediction’s balm ; 

Down the tower, through gate and hall, 
Every hour it says to all, 

“Rest thee, rest thee, weary heart, 

Let thy cares with day depart; 

“Joy remember, grief forget, 

All the stars are shining yet, 

All th}’ countless sorrow known, 

All thine endless evil done, 

All thy tears so lonely shed 
O’er the living, o’er the dead ; 

Let their long procession dark 
Fade with evening’s fading spark. 

“ Now a brighter day begin, 

Banish grief and conquer sin, 

Let thy dreary past be gone, 

Strike with me a cheerful one ; 

Had I kept, and counted still, 

Every sorrow, every ill, 

Not a thousand, thousand chimes 
Could repeat the countless times 

“ I have sharpest sorrow known, 
Watching through the dark alone. 

If earth’s wrongs I counted o’er, 

I might strike forever more. 

Turn with me thy face to heaven, 

There thy faults are free forgiven ; 

On one great Creator’s breast 
All thy wrongs uncounted rest. 

“ Bravely toil, and tranquil sleep, 

While thy weary watch I keep ; 

Let thy tireless hands, like mine, 

Move in duty’s changeless line; 

And thy face, all beaming bright, 

Prove thy heart is beating right; 

Turn thy faith, forever true, 

Up to yon unclouded blue; 

See, the sun beams down on thee, 

Now strike one, dear heart, with me.” 


A traveller who was telling a very won¬ 
derful story to a friend, said, “Why, my 
dear fellow, I never would have believed it 
if I hadn’t seen it myself.” “Ah ! just so ” 
replied the friend, “ but you must recollect 
1 did not see it.” 


DRY GOODS. 

Our dry-goods houses can boast ot as 
large, rich, and varied an assortment of 
merchandise as similar establishments in 
any part of the Old World. The most ele¬ 
gant collection of foreign and domestic fab¬ 
rics for ladies’ and gentlemen’s wear, and at 
prices to suit all grades, can be had at all 
times. Among the dry-goods stores of New 
York and Philadelphia are to be found some 
of the finest of our structures. We may 
note the following firms in connection with 
this line of business: James McCreery & 
Co., Eleventh Street and Broadway, New 
York ; Lord A Taylor, Twentieth Street and 
Broadway, New York; Arnold Constable & 
Co., Broadway and Nineteenth Street, New 
York; T. M. James & Co., 372 and 374 Ful¬ 
ton Street, Brooklyn ; Jones & Sons, Nine¬ 
teenth Street and Eighth Avenue, New 
York; Sharpless & Sons, Eighth and Chest¬ 
nut Streets, Philadelphia; Homer, Colladay 
& Co., 1412 and 1414 Chestnut Street, Phila¬ 
delphia ; Darlington & Runk, 1126 and 
1128 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia; E. Rid¬ 
ley & Sons, 309, 311, and 3111 Grand Street, 
New York; Flint & Warren, 24 and 26 
West Fourteenth Street, New York; AVil- 
son & Co., 34 West Fourteenth Street, New 
York. For linen goods we must mention 
specially the firms of James McCutcheon, 
10 East Fourteenth Street, and McGibbon & 
Co., Twenty-first Street and Broadway, New 
York. 


horrid mischief-making old antediluvians 
sniffing and prowling around. Why not 
open an asylum for indigent poor at once?” 

“But they are Donald’s grandparents” 
pleaded Nanny. 

“ Well, what then ? Let him provide for 
them as other people do. His wife has the 
first right, and the only right, in his house 
and so I’d tell him, if I were you. A mother- 
in-law would be bad enough, but this is ten 
times worse!” 

“ I don’t think he ought to expect it of 
me,” said Nanny. 

“Of course he oughtn’t,” said Hero. 

So when Mr. Aubrey came to make his 
usual evening call that night, and Aunt 
Ponsonby had discreetly made some excuse 
for leaving the drawing-room, Nanny 
broached the subject at once. 

“ Donald,” said she, “ I’ve been think¬ 
ing-” 

“ Well, dearest.” 

“And I’ve come to the conclusion”—rather 
abruptly—“ that you ought not to ask me to 
make a home for old Mr. and Mrs. Vivian!” 

“ Is it not right and natural, Nanny, that 
their home should be with me?” he asked, 
his face clouding over a little. 

“ I dare say it will be very nice for them,” 
said Nanny, with a toss of her golden head; 
“but how about me?” 

“ Do you object to it?” 

“Ycry decidedly, indeed,” answered the 
pretty young bride-elect, fondly imagining 
that she had but to lift her slender finger to 


BENDING HER WILL 


BY AMY RANDOLPH. 


“My dear,” said Hero Field, “don’t give 
up. If you yield to his Avay it’s all up with 
you for the rest of your married life. And 
the idea of a bride in her honeymoon being 
weighed down with an old grandmother and 
grandfather-in-law. My! who ever heard of 
such a thing?” 

Nanny Eastlake was a bright-haired, azure¬ 
eyed girl of nineteen; a girl who had been 
brought up at a fashionable boarding-school. 
She never had known the peaceful influence 
ot a home, for she lived with Mrs. Sykes 
I onsonby, an aunt who floated on the very 
top wave of fashion, and spent her nights in 
society, and her days in bed. And the first 
leal heart experience that had ever happened 
to her, was Donald Aubrey’s love. 

“It’s such an elegant house,” said Nanny. 
“Finished in real wood, you know; and 
furnished so beautifully. Turkey carpets, 
and furniture of ebony and gold, and the 
tiniest little gem of a conservatory, filled 
with loses, and camellias, and the sweetest 
carnations; and my boudoir is all pink and 
silver.” 


“Of course, it’s 
Field, “ but you’ll 


all very fine,” said Hero 
never enjoy it with those 


win any boon that she asked of Donald 
A ubrey. 

“ I am very sorry,” said the young man, 
calmly. “As I have decided to ask them to 
remain permanently with me, I cannot, of 

course, permit my wife-” 

Nanny crimsoned angrily. 


“ But I am not your wife yet, Mr. Aubrey. 
And 1 will not be your wife if-” 

“Nanny! For God’s sake stop! Think 
what you are saying!” 

“I mean it!” said Nanny, hotly. “I do 
not choose to marry into a nest of relations- 
in-law, and so you must choose between your 
grandparents and me!” 

“Nanny!” 

She laughed a haughty, constrained laugh. 

“ I am quite in earnest,” said she. D 
you really care for me, you will give up this 
unreasonable caprice of yours.” 

“Is it unreasonable to honor ones aged 
parents?” he asked, slowly, while his daiL 
searching eyes seemed to read the ven sc 
crets of her heart. “Is it a caprice to letain 
some natural affection for those who l° ve 
and cared for me when I was yet a helpless 
child? If you think it is, Nanny, I l' a ' e 
been sorely mistaken in your charactei • 

“ Very well,” said Nanny, feeling her 
cheeks burn and her lips quiver, ‘ 1 am * 
to understand that your selection is 111 a 






























161 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


“ It certainly is.” 

“And you prefer Mr. and Mrs. Vivian to 
me?” 

“ I prefer my duty to anything in the 
world, Nanny." 

“ I have the honor to wish you a very 
good-evening, then,” she said, regally. 

And Nanny swept out of the room in a 
style which she meant would be over¬ 
whelming. 

“ Good !” cried Hero Field, the next day, 
when Nanny related to her the occurrences 
of the evening. “He’ll be on his knees to 
you before throe days are passed, and you’ll 
have your own way for good and all, after 
this.” 

But the three days passed, and thi’ee more 
on top of that, and never a penitent lover 
made his appearance to sue for Nanny East- 
lake’s pardon. And she began, most reluct¬ 
antly, to realize that Donald Aubrey had 
been in earnest; and that her own mad folly 
had estranged her from one of the truest and 
manliest hearts in the world. 

Nanny had been brought up foolishly and 
frivolously enough, but there was a vein of 
genuine gold in her nature for all that, and 
she bitterly felt her own mistake. 

“ Oh, Hero, what shall I do ?” she pleaded, 
with wistful tears in her eyes. 

“ Let him go,” said Miss Field, who, to tell 
the truth, had been a little envious that 
Nanny Eastlake had become engaged before 
herself. “ There’s as good fish in the sea as 
ever came out of it.” 

“Perhaps so,” said Nanny. “But there 
is only one Donald Aubrey in all the world 
for me.” 

And she took counsel with herself, and 
she decided what she would do. 

Donald Aubrey was sitting alone by him¬ 
self in the pretty blue-and-gold drawing¬ 
room he had furnished expressly with regard 
to Nanny Eastlake’s taste. Mr. and Mrs. 
Vivian, early risers and early retirers, had 
gone to bed, alt hough it was hardly yet dusk, 
when the little parlor-maid announced,— 

“ Please, sir, a lady to see you.” 

And Donald found himself looking into 
Nanny Eastlake’s deep blue eyes. 

“Nanny!” he ejaculated. 

“ Yes, Donald, it is I. Oh, Donald, I have 
been so wrong, so foolish. And 1 have come 
to ask your pardon.” 

“My little Nanny, hush! Not a word 
more!” 

“ But 1 must speak, Donald ! I must tell 
you how earnestly I have repented of my 
temper and folly. If you will take mo back 
to your heart, Donald, I will try to be a good 
wife to you, and a dutiful daughter to your 
grandparents.” 

So little Nanny hauled down the flag of 
rebellion and remained true to her better 
nature, much to Miss Hero Field’s scorn and 
contumely. 

21 


“ You have made a great fool of yourself,” 
said that young lady, angrily. 

“Donald thinks I am right,” persisted 
Nanny, “and Donald’s good opinion is of 
more consequence to me than that of all the 
world beside!” 

“Oh, if you’re as far gone as that, I have 
nothing more to say,” jeered Hero. 

The wedding-day came, and the wedding 
tour passed away, amid the thunders of 
Niagara and the green glitter of the Thou¬ 
sand Islands, and the gray walls of Quebec, 
and when Nanny came home to the house 
Donald had furnished for her, she wore a 
face as bright as a rose in J une. Grandpapa 
and Grandmamma Vivian were waiting on 
the threshold to greet her. Nanny kissed 
and hugged them both most heartily. 

“It is so nice to have you here to welcome 
us,” said she. “And you’re sure your rooms 
have been quite comfortable ? And grand¬ 
papa has had his dinners just as he liked 
them? But I mean to see myself now. For 
you don’t know what a famous little house¬ 
keeper I am going to make.” 

But when the cosey tea-dinner was over 
the old people got up. 

• “ Where are you going?” cried Nanny. 

“Home,” said Grandmamma Vivian. 

“Home is here,” said Nanny. 

“No, my dear, no,” said the old lady, 
kindly; “young people are best by them¬ 
selves. Donald has bought us a pretty little 
cottage a mile or two out in the country, 
where I can keep a cow and grandfather 
can look after the poultry. And you must 
come and see us there every day.” 

So the old couple trudged away, and 
Nanny looked up into her husband’s face. 

“ Donald,” said she, “ what does this ; 
mean ?” 

“ It means, my darling,” he answered, 

“ that grandpapa and his wife could not be 
i happy in the unwonted confinement of a 
city. They longed for the country. And 
so you will have a home without any rela¬ 
tions-in-law, after all.” 

“ Oh, Donald, do not repeat my silly 
words!” she whispered. 

But there was only love and tenderness 
in his eyes. 

“Little one,” said he, “your heart was 
right, all along!” 

“It was, if love could be a guide,” she 
answered softly. 


Jabez Bronson, a rustic rhymer, was 
challenged to write an epitaph for Deacon 
Wood, who was present. Immediately he 
made these lines,— 

“ Within this wood lies Deacon Wood, 

The one within the other; 

The outside wood we know is good, 

But doubtful is the other.” 


A HYMN FOR THE NEW YEAR. 

BY I.YDIA M. MILLARD. 

What hast thou for us, year unknown— 
Stranger we love and fear? 

A snowy cross, a gleaming crown ? 

A wreath, a smile, a tear? 

Oh, tell us if our budding hope 
In balm and bloom expand ! 

Or shall it fade and wither up— 

Drop from our clasping hand ? 

Oh, tell us if around our door 
Joy’s rose shall fragrant twine ; 

Or over every arch and floor 
Trail sorrow’s cypress-vine! 

We take thy hand, New Year, and pray 
That hand for us may hold 

Some morning-glory, fresh each day; 
Some heart’s-ease, streaked with gold. 

Love’s lily bending to our eye, 

Dropping its dewy tear ; 

And, softly shining in our sky, 

Some peace-star mild and clear. 

1 » 

Old Year, we give thee last good-night! 
New Year, a glad good-morn! 

Oh, be thy sunsets for us bright, 

Clear may thy sunrise dawn. 

Sweet peace and mercy, gentle grace, 
With us this year abide, 

And may no loving, darling face 
Be missed at our fireside. 

No band of mourners through our door 
Echo their sorrow-moan; 

Be no grief-shadow on our floor, 
Window, archway, or stone. 

Through the hall and up the stair, 

Glad good morn and night, 

Song and sunbeam, peace and prayer, 
Keep our hearthstone bright. 

And when for us earth’s last year dawn. 
May we, with bounding heart, 

Bid all our loving lost good-morn, 

Never a day to part. 


A little daughter of a Connecticut clergy¬ 
man was left to “ ’tend door,” and, obeying 
the summons of the bell, she found a gentle¬ 
man on the steps who wished to see her fa¬ 
ther. “Father isn’t in,” said she; “but if it 
is anything about your soul, I can attend to 
you. I know the whole plan of salvation.” 

A colored gentleman went to consult one 
of the most high-toned lawyers in Boston, 
and, after stating his case, said,—“Now, I 
knows you’s a lawyer, but 1 wish you would 
please, sir, jiss tell me the truff ’bout dat 
! matter.” 
















162 


PRESIDENT JAMES 


A. GARFIELD’S 


memorial JOURNAL. 


A HEAD OF YOUR OWN. 

BY LYDIA M. MILLARD. 

Once, in those days when more than one 
wife 

Could solace and sweeten a lonely man’s life, 
A bachelor sensible, sociable, kind, 

Married two maidens just to his mind. 

One was so fair, so blooming and gay, 

A lovely young creature all the world say, 
Iler brow like a lily, cheek like a rose, 

Eye like a morning-star beautiful glows. 

She gazed on her spouse with speechless 
delight, 

Unhappy an hour away from his sight. 

With delicate hand, so tender and fair, 

She wreathed in soft curls his dark shining 
hair. 

Each silver hair she stole from his head,— 
Time should not leave him a single gray 
thread,— 

With these kept away the world would aver 
His head and his heart just suited for her. 

The other wife, queenly, stately, and wise, 
Heaven’s purest azure the hue of her eyes, 

A creature most perfect, every way planned, 
To charm and to comfort, caress and com¬ 
mand ; 

A noble wife, men envying said, 

What happy stars shine o’er his head! 

With such a captivating bride, 

His life must move in music tide. 

“ I love him well,” she rapturous said, 

“ I love his noble, classic head, 

Even each coming silver hair 

But makes his regal brow more fair.” 

She stole away each ebon thread, 

And left the gray to bloom instead; 

While ’twas the joy of his whole life, 

To please each darling, dearest wife. 

One morn he heard them whispering sa} r , 

“ He’ll have to wear a wig some day. 

A pity he should lose his hair, 

We’ll have to brush it with more care.” 

He lay awake that whole long night, 
Reviewing his condition bright, 

And softly to himself did say, 

“ Hot one thread black, not one thread gray 

“ What will become of my poor head, 
Without one gray, one ebon thread, 

I can’t displease either sweet wife, 

’Twould wreck and ruin all her life; 

And yet my head does feel so cold, 

I haven’t half the hair of old. 

If each sweet woman has her way, 

Pray what will I have left, I say ? 

“ I wish I had my own hair back, 

Just as God gave it, white or black ; 
Henceforth if I must live alone, 

I 11 have a head that’s all my own. 


Both sides to please who faithful tiies, 

May lose his head, and hair, and eyes, 

For who would win the world’s good will, 
Must keep his own good judgment still. 

“To one firm principle you cling, 

If crowned by men, or conscience king. 

Each individual thought must shine 
Like some benignant bow divine, 

With reason’s red, and wisdom’s blue, 

Truth’s sky serene o’erarching through.” 

[From “ Successful Folks.”] 

PROFESSOR J. JAY WATSON. 

Professor Watson was born in Gloucester, 
Essex County, Mass. His father and mother 
were Robert and Elizabeth G. Watson. He 
was the youngest of ten children, all of whom 
possessed extraordinary musical talent. r I his 
was inherited from his parents, who were 
able exponents of the divine art. Watson 
evinced an intense love for music when a 
child. He sang popular airs when three 
years old, and accompanied himself on an 
old-fashioned “ Yankee tin baking-oven.” At 
eight years of age, John made his first voy¬ 
age with his brother, who was master of a 
fishing-schooner. 

o 

He was well whipped at school by a well- 
meaning pedagogue, as he developed his 
musical idiosyncrasies, and whistled and 
drummed out his crude ideas on his desk. 
In after-years his kind old teacher used to 
say,—“John, I did not understand you.” 
One day he heard a country violinist per¬ 
form. His ambition was tired to own a 
violin. His family were religious, and had 
serious objections to his playing on so wicked 
an instrument as a fiddle. But the young 
enthusiast was the victor, and, having earned 
some money, was permitted to purchase the 
coveted instrument. Ilis genius developed 
itself in his rapid progress on the instru¬ 
ment. lie attracted the attention of the 
townspeople and musicians of note. lie was 
constantly in demand at country fairs and 
parties, and though his pay was small, his 
performances were remunerative. He earned 
money enough to place himself under the 
instruction of Manuel Fenalossa, an eminent 
teacher. His progress under this master 
soon warranted his appearance in public, 
and he had an eminent success. His intense 
application brought on a severe and danger¬ 
ous illness, which laid him at death’s door. 

On the recovery of his health, a new life 
dawned on young Watson. He was selected 
to lead the music with his violin in the 
church. If the church indorsed the violin, 
the family could do no less. Out of grati¬ 
tude for his services, the religious society 
presented him with a superb violin. When 
a lad, his pluckiness and persistency in fol¬ 
lowing what he deemed to be right was as 
I apparent as in his more mature years. On 


a dark and stormy night he drove through 
Rockport. Ilis sleigh struck a large ed«-e 
stone that had fallen from a cart, and over¬ 
turned. Watson was thrown on the frozen 
ground, his horse was killed, and his sleigh 
damaged. The next morning he went after 
the authorities with his usual vigor. Lonn- 
son Hash, a well-known lawyer, was his 
counsel, and after a hard fight he obtained 
the full amount of damages from the town. 
The lawyer, speaking of his plucky boy, 
said, “ He has as much business as musical 
capacity.” Every Gloucester boy takes to 
fishing as the ducks take to water. John 
was no exception. In his frequent trips on 
the fishing-vessels he took his violin with 
him for practice. 

On one of these cruises, an event occurred 
that changed the whole course of his life. 
His vessel was lying at anchor off the coast 
of Maine. Watson came on deck with his 
violin to amuse the fishermen on the vessels 
at anchor. Captain 0. R. Gross, master and 
owner of the schooner “ Rival,” of Truro, 
Massachusetts, put off his boat, came on 
board, introduced himself, and asked for the 
artist who was such a proficient on the 
violin. The young artist presented himself, 
and the two musicians, for Gross was no 
mean performer, became fast friends. 

The season of 1851 found Watson on board 
the “ Rival” as first officer. The crew was 
a musical one. Captain Gross, violinist and 
vocalist; Watson, violinist and vocalist; 
Adrian Lufkin, violinist; George Urquhart, 
violinist; Hiram S. Buffington, violoncellist, 
with two sailors and a colored cook. The 
cook owned a fiddle. Some one greased his 
bow, and he took the insult so much to heart 
that he left the vessel at the first opportu¬ 
nity. The “Rival” made a splendid cruise, 
and the crew were a merry-hearted set; but 
the dreadful gale of October 3, 1851, over¬ 
took her. Many of the fleet were wrecked. 
Hundreds of poor fishermen found a watery 
grave. The “ Rival” barely escaped foun¬ 
dering, and was stranded on Prince Edward s 
Island. The sea made a clean sweep over 
her, and one of the sailors was thrown into 
the yawning gulf-by the main boom sweep¬ 
ing the quarter-deck. Watson, regardless of 
his own safety, seized the rope, ran to the 
leeward, and by superhuman efforts saved 
the poor fellow’s life. John Conroy, an ec¬ 
centric character, an Irishman, who saw the 
landing of the crew, thus described the scene 
to the magistrate who settled the affairs o 
the wreck,— 

“ Och, honey, have yees heard the news, 
and would ye belave it, darlin’, there is a 
little schooner called the ‘Rival just come 
on shore, and she’s chuckfull of feedles and 

feodlers.” .. 

1 The musical ability of the crew was util¬ 
ized. Watson and Gross proceeded to Lh.u 
lottetown, the capital of the island, and b a ' 










PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


163 


four concerts. The entertainments were 
such a success that hundreds could not gain 
admittance to the hall. The little company 
paid their way through the States by giving 
public entertainments on their route. The 
fame of the musical fishermen preceded 
them. At Gloucester, Watson’s native town, 
a public ovation awaited them. One old 
adage was reversed, that “A prophet hath 
no honor in his own country.” Another 
proverb was confirmed,—“Yankee ingenuity 
is equal to any emergency.” 

In 1858, through the munificence of his 
brother-in-law, George F. Wonson, Esq., he 
visited Europe, and enjoyed the teaching of 
Franz Liszt, and other European celebrities. 
On returning to New York he resumed his 
vocation, and entered upon a career of suc¬ 
cess. His career has been an unprecedented 
one. Ilis pupils gather from all parts of the 
country, their ages varying from four to 
seventy. 

Professor Watson again visited Norway 
in 1870. In company with Ole Bull he 
visited the principal cities of Europe, and 
was in Bei'lin and Paris during the most 
exciting scenes of the Franco-German war. 
Ilis versatility was exhibited in his exten¬ 
sive correspondence with American journals. 
Some of his letters were singularly prophetic. 
During this year he managed the musical 
business of Ole Bull in California, and ex¬ 
hibited consummate ability. The great 
artist was so much gratified with Watson’s 
success that he presented him with a magnifi- 1 
cent watch, bearing the following inscription 
in English and Norwegian : “ San Francisco, 
Feb. 27, 1870. To J. Jay Watson, from his 
friend, Ole Bull.” He managed the Ada- 
laide Phillips Concert Company, in which 
Miss Phillips, Levy, the cornet-player, and 
Boscovitz, the pianist, were the principal 
attractions. In founding the University of 
Music and other Liberal Arts, Professor 
Watson proposed to give our youth, for the 
least expense, the advantages of the highest 
culture, now afforded only by foreign institu¬ 
tions. At the same time to guide our own 
national taste and genius, forming a school dis¬ 
tinguished from the schools of other eras and 
nationalities. To secure this end, the incor¬ 
porators unanimously elected Professor 
Watson the president of the university,— 
rolled on him the responsibility and the 
chair he now fills. 

Our artist is distinguished for his unselfish¬ 
ness and noble acts of generosity. He is 
one of the most magnetic players of the age 
on the violin. lie can fill any house any¬ 
where. His daughter Annie is an accom¬ 
plished pianist, and accompanies her father 
at his concerts. He has probably given 
more free entertainments for benevolent and 
religious purposes, than any other man in 
America. Shortly after the Modoc war, 
and the tragedy of the lava-beds, in which 


Canby and Thomas met their sad fate at 
j the hand of Captain Jack, Commissioner 
I Meacliam arrived in New York. Among 
the savages who arrived with Meacham 
was Win-c-ma, the Indian woman who saved 
Meacham’s life. Meacham’s public lectures 
were a failure, and the commissioner and 
the woman were in actual want. Watson 
stepped up at the close of one of the lectures 
1 and gave the commissioner a ten-dollar bill. 
The next day he contributed fifty dollars 
more. He organized a series of musical 
entertainments to relieve the embarrass- 



gratitude to Professor Baxter, of Boston: 
“The good Lord made Professor J. Jay 
Watson of the best material He had on 
hand. I have tried him and know what J 
say. He is a man after your own heart. 
Watson can make a violin talk a little 
plainer than any other man in the United 
States. Please receive him as my friend, 
and believe me ever yours truly, A. B. Mea- 
cham.” 

Professor Watson is still a young man. 
The vigor and elasticity of youth is yet upon 
him. His magnetic nature wins him friends. 
His enthusiasm enables him to scale every 
barrier. Ilis magnetic touch and musical 
genius captivate alike the learned and the 
common mind. His aesthetic nature revels 
in art, and his practical business ability 
makes him one of the best managers of the 
age. His unselfishness has kept him from 
fortune, but the sunny cheer of his life no 
gold can buy. He is an admirable artist, a 
benevolent helper of every good work, and 
a true friend, a genial and intelligent com¬ 
panion. Knocking about the world, and 
often roughing it, he has preserved a cheer¬ 
ful spirit, husbanded his strength by avoiding 
excesses, and turning his lips away from hot, 
rebellious liquids that drown a man in 
sorrow. He has yet a brilliant future before 
him in which he will increase his repute as 
one of the most successful artists of the age. 

Professor Watson is not only a musical 
man but a director. He is both a composer 
and inventor. Some of his compositions have 
been immensely popular, and have secured 
an enormous sale. Among the most cele¬ 
brated are “The Frolic of the Frogs,” 
“Beautiful Dream” Waltz, “Ben Lomond,” 
“Mondamin,” “Happy New Year" March, 
“Merry Christmas,” “Hercules” Waltz 
“Centennial” Waltz, “Kenilworth.” 

[From the Wheeling Gazette.] 

LEAP-YEAR. 

“Albeit it is nowe become a parte of the 
commun lawe, in regard to the social rela¬ 
tions of life, that as often as every besextile 
year doth return, the ladyes have the sole 
privilege, during the time it continueth, of 
making love unto the men, which they may 


doe either by wordes or lookes, as unto them 
it scemcth proper; and, moreover, no man 
will be entitled to the benefit of clergy who 
dothe refuse to accept the offers of a ladye, 
or who dothe in any wise treat her proposals 
with slight or contumely.”— Old Chronicle. 

And must I then forego my right 
To kneel at “ beauty’s shrine?” 

Shall eyes whose flash have thrill’d delight 
With “fond appeals” seek mine? 

I fear—(be still, my fluttering heart!)— 

I fear that I shall yield ; 

Yet I will play no coward part, 

I’ll bravely keep the field ! 

Come on, then ! pretty tremblers, come! 

We’ll hear what you’ve to say! 

What! frightened, nervous, pale and mum ? 

Pray cast your fears away ! 

Nay! never blush, nor shrink, mes cheres! 

The crowd of sighing swains 
Who have besieged you three long years, 
Stoop to receive }'our chains. 

Our club, each meeting, has contained 
A dozen beaux, I know, 

More timid than the youth who stray’d 
Where Zurich’s* waters flow. 

One saucy look—one melting tone 
Of a mellifluent voice, 

And the whole squad are overthrown— 
Quick! haste and make a choice! 

Some heartless, wayward belles may feel 
When they implore and sue, 

That slights and scorn have turned to steel 
The passionate and true ; 

O’er hearts once tortured ’neath their sway, 
Their brightest smiles will gleam, 

Like sunbeams of a wintry day 
Upon the frozen stream. 

I have myself some scores to clear: 

The coquette now I'll play! 

Each trace—each record of a tear, 

A tear shall wash away. 

Zounds! how I’ll torture their hard hearts 
Who crushed and slighted mine; 

Come, Cupid, with thy bow and darts! 
Avenge me and I’m thine! 

What! must I now forego my right 
To kneel at beauty’s shrine ? 

Shall eyes whose flash have thrill’d delight 
With “fond appeals” seek mine? 

I fear—(be still, my fluttering heart!) — 

I fear that I shall yield ; 
l"ct, I will play no coward part, 

I’ll boldly keep the field ! 

Will Honeycomb. 


“ Eugenia, Eugenia, will you still insist on 
wearing the hair of another woman upon 
your head ?” “ Alphonse, Alphonse, do you 

still insist on wearing the skin of another 
calf upon your feet?” 


* Vide song, “ By the margin of fair Zurich's waters.” 











164 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


A YOUNG WIDOW. 

In nature or art, where can be found a 
more interesting object than a young widow ? 
She is experienced, but wears her own hair 
and teeth, and is minus wrinkles. Her re¬ 
cent bereavement gives her a claim upon 
the sympathy of man. Like all good things, 
she can only he created at a great sacrifice. 
Mrs. Browning saj’s that a man must he 
pretty thoroughly spoiled before he can 
leave a widow. The black swan—this , 
mournful phoenix—rises only out of the 
funeral-urn that holds the ashes of the hus¬ 
band’s heart. All men, however great or ; 
wise, have felt the indefinable influence of I 
widowhood. Henry VIII. was so fond of 
them that he took two, and King David 
was so fond of Abigail, the widow of Nabal, 
that ho made her his wife, and he turned 
Bathsheba into a widow on purpose to 
marry her. When Judith ceases her cogita¬ 
tions over the virtues of the late lamented 
Manasses of Bethulia, puts off her mourning 
and adorns herself in brave attire to set out 
for the camp of Holofefnes, we feel instinct¬ 
ively that she will come back with his heart, 
his crown, or head, whichever she goes for. 
When the old widow Naomi counsels the 
young widow Ruth how to lay her snares 
in the harvest-fields of her kinsman and 
spring her net on the threshing-floor, we 
know at once that the wealthy bachelor, 
Boaz, might as well order the wedding gar¬ 
ments. Allan Ramsey wrote a song, telling 
how to woo a widow. He might as well 
have left direction how to get struck with 
lightning. It comes on man like his fate,— 
inexorable and inevitable. 


TAKING HER DOWN. 

Two girls, both young, and one very 
beautiful, sat conversing in a comfortable 
sitting-room in a mansion at the West End. 
The handsomer of the two, Maude Pierson, 
wore a travelling-dress of brown merino, and 
was evidently resting after a journey. 

In spite ol a certain languor born of I 
fatigue, and her- unbecoming dress, the girl 
was undeniably a beauty, of a gorgeous bru¬ 
nette type. Her companion, passing pretty, 
was of the same dark tint, but smaller in 
figure, and far from possessing Maude’s great ' 
beauty. 

“Tell me about everybody,” Maude said. 
“I am fairly hungry for gossip, after vege¬ 
tating nearly two years in that abominable 
place with my aunt. She has left me an 
ample fortune, however, so the time was not 
altogether thrown away.” 

“ Dead ?” cried her companion. “ You are 
not in mourning, and—why, Maude, you said 
you were going to Lady Ralston’s this even¬ 
ing.” 

“ So 1 am. Aunt Maria has been dead six 
months, and requested me not to wear black, 


and to return to town in November. But, 
Cora, tell me the news. Who has been the 
belle of our set since I left?” 

“You conceited girl!” laughed her friend. 

“ Bah! What is the use of duplicity ? For, 
between ourselves, I should be an idiot it I 
did not know I was handsome. How is 
Lord Frederick Seymour?” 

“One question at a time, though 1 can 
answer these two together. The belle has 
been the object of Lord Frederick Seymour’s 
special attention since she made her debut last 
month. Mrs. Hursey introduced her. She 
is a niece, I believe, of old Mrs. Mortimer, 
who died three years ago and left her all her 
money.” 

“ But who is she ?” 

“Iler name is Worthington—Esther Wor¬ 
thington.” 

“Esther Worthington!” cried Maude, 
sharply. “W r hat is she like?” 

“Tall, slender, very fair, with delicate fea¬ 
tures, and unmistakably a beauty, who sings 
exquisitely; and having been on the conti¬ 
nent with Mrs. Mortimer, speaks two or 
three modern languages with fluency.” 

“ How old ?” 

“About your age,—twenty-four or five.” 

Maude broke into a harsh laugh. 

“ Mrs. Mortimer’s niece!” she cried. “ Well, 
that is rich ! And so young Lord Frederick 
Seymour is in love with her!” 

“ He is certainly very devoted. Every 
one thinks there will be a match.” 

“ A match!” cried Maude, in another burst 
of mocking merriment. “Lord Frederick 
Seymour and Esther Worthington ! Well! 
well ! I tell you,” she said, with a touch of 
sai’casm in her tones, “it will not be a 
match! I will take her down!” 

“ What do you mean ?” 

“ Will this belle be at Lady Ralston’s this 
evening ?” 

“ Probably. But do tell me, Maude, what 
do you know about her?” 

“ I know enough to cool Lord Frederick 
Seymour’s ardor,” said Maude; “ and he shall 
learn the truth. To think of that girl's 
daring to move in our set!” 

\\ ell, as to that,” Cora replied, “ being 
handsome, accomplished, refined, and heiress 
to double your fortune, Maude, I cannot sec 
where the audacity comes in, especially as 
Mis. Ilursey has her for a guest, and we all 
know how particular she is. The Seymours 
themselves are not prouder than the Ilur- 
scys.” 


mvy WUIUIig. 1 SU 

the girl thinks nobody here knows hei 
humble her! She won’t attend any 
fashionable parties after I’ve told my s 
11 But, what is your story ?” 

“You’ll hear to-night.” 

“ Tel1 1,10 now >” said Cora, coaxingl) 
No. Let mo lie down a while and 
or I shall look like a ghost this evenim 


A very brilliant ghost it would have been 
to resemble Maude Pierson, as she entered 
Lady Ralston’s salon a few hours later. An 
evening dress of garnet velvet, cut to display 
the beautifully rounded shoulders and arms 
and trimmed with rich black lace, orna¬ 
ments of diamonds, and a cluster of white 
flowers in the jetty braids of hair, all height¬ 
ened her queenly beauty. 

Looking across the crowded rooms, she 
recognized her rival in a tall, slender girl 
who wore white lace over peach-colored 
satin, and ornaments of fretted gold. Lord 
Frederick Seymour was already in attend¬ 
ance, apparently, for lie was leading this 
lad}^ to the head of a quadrille just forming, 
when Maude entered. The sight stimulated 
anew all the hatred of Esther Worthington 
that had been aroused by Cora’s description. 

A cold-hearted, calculating woman, de¬ 
voted to dress, wealth, and luxury,—selfish 
to the heart’s core, carrying the smiling face 
of a belle over a bitter envy of all more for¬ 
tunate than herself,—Maude Pierson had 
never felt the touch of womanhood until 
her heart opened to Lord Frederick Seymour. 

An orphan, dependent upon an aunt de¬ 
voted to the frivolities of fashion, Maude’s 
education had been superficial, and an undue 
value had been given in her thoughts to the 
advantages of birth, position, and fortune. 

Miss Pierson was very proud of the blue 
blood in her own veins; and Maude’s success 
as a belle was as much a triumph to her 
aunt as to herself. 

When the long illness set in that drove 
Miss Pierson to the seclusion and quiet of' a 
country home, her niece had begun to hope 
that the attentions of “Lord Fred” were 
more than those called for by the ordinary 
requirements of society. 

It had been a sweat blow to her to he sud¬ 
s’ 

denly whirled out of the vortex of London 
gayety, to be buried alive in the little town 
where much of her childhood had passed, 
under her aunt’s care. But she was far too 
polite to murmur loudly, and when her rela¬ 
tive died it was with the firm conviction 
that all Maude’s tender care and attention 
were dictated by warmest affection. It was 
singularly characteristic of Miss Pierson that 
in her will she stipulated that Maude should 
return to London six months after her 
death, and wear no mourning. In ono of 
their last interviews she said to her, “You 
will soon bo twenty-five, Maude, and you 
shall not bury yourself hero next wintei. 
It might ruin your prospects ot a good 
match.” 


And Maude, secretly exultant, wept copi¬ 
ously as she assured her dear aunt that 
“ society would have no charms for her " lH 
she to be deprived of her life-long com 
panion.” 

Y r et the six months dragged wearily when 
she thought of Lord Frederick S 03 moui. 


























165 


PRESIDENT JAMES 


A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


Would bo love her bettor for her golden 
charms, or did he know her fortune, after 
all, was small compared with his own 
princely income ? Had a fairer face eclipsed 
her memory? 

Carefully, during the long summer, did the 
beautiful brunette cherish her own charms 
and gloriously did they repay her care when 
she burst upon her old friends, more superbly 
handsome than ever, at Lady Ralston’s re¬ 
ception. 

Esther Worthington, looking at her as she 
entered the room, turned to her companion, 
saying, in a low tone,— 

“ Is not that Miss Pierson ?” 

“Yes. Is she not handsome?” 

“Magnificently so. I can scarcely im¬ 
agine a more queenly beauty. She was not 
a very pretty child, dark and thin. Will 
she recognize me, I wonder, as easily as I 
do her?” 

“You were children when you last met?” 

“About twelve years old; but we lived 
near each other for six years before that. 
Will she look down upon me now as scorn¬ 
fully as she did then ?” 

“ Hush, you pain me!” was the reply. 
“ Try to forget the dark days.” 

“May, for they make happy ones all the 
brighter,” was the gentle reply. “Bow to 
your partner.” 

For the music of the quadrille sounded in 
the long room, and attention was required to 
the intricacies through which Miss Worth¬ 
ington and her partner proposed to lead 
their set. 

When it was over, Esther, leaning on her 
partner’s arm, turned to find herself con¬ 
fronting Maude Pierson. With a sweet 
smile, she extended her hand. 

“Have you forgotten me?” she asked. 

“ I remember you well,” was the reply, in 
a freezing tone, “and I confess my surprise 
is very great to meet a charity girl among 
my friends.” 

“A charity girl!” cried several voices. 

“You may doubt me,” said Maude, an¬ 
swering them, “but let Miss Worthington 
deny, if she can, that she was taken from a 
charity school to be the nursery maid ot 
Mrs. Thurston, my aunt’s cousin and neigh¬ 
bor. Let her deny, if she can, that she did 
a menial’s work for years in their house. 
She may palm herself off as Mrs. Mortimer’s 
niece upon strangers, but I, knowing her, 
decline the honor of her acquaintance.’ 

The delicate, beautiful Esther Worthing¬ 
ton grew very pale during this insulting ad¬ 
dress, but she drew herself erect as haugh¬ 
tily as Maude Pierson herself, as that young 
lady ceased to speak. 

“All you have said is quite true,” she re¬ 
plied, “and the only reason for concealing 
the facts you now force upon my friends 
was the request of my dear aunt, Mrs. Mor¬ 
timer. Mrs. Hursey, Lady Ralston, and 


several others of those who honor me with 
their friendship, know well the family his- 
tor y you force me to relate to our friends 
here. You will pardon mo for obtruding my 
private affairs upon you; but since Miss 
Pierson has attacked my veracity I must 
defend it. My parents were married against 
the wishes of my mother’s father, who car¬ 
ried his resentment to the grave, and cut my 
mother out of his will. When I was a babe, 
my father died, and my mother, ill, feeble, 
and penniless, was taken to the workhouse, 
where she, too, died. Her sister, Mrs. Morti¬ 
mer, was in Canada at the time, and unaware 
of my existence* 

“ What Miss Pierson has so delicately told 
you of my childhood is quite true. I was 
taken from the workhouse to fill a servant’s I 
place; but my employers were kind, and I 
was allowed to attend school in the winter. 

I think they will testify that, if my duties 
were menial, they were faithfully performed. j 
When I was thirteen, my aunt returned home 
and found me out. Since then I have been 
her charge, and the kindest love was lavished 
upon me until, at her death, I became the 
guest of my friend, Mrs. Hursey. 1 hope 
you will pardon me for taking up so much 
of your time; and if you desire, with Miss 
Pierson, to decline the further acquaintance 
of a workhouse girl, I can only accept your 
decision with some regret for a deceit that 
was only in accordance with the wishes of 
the dead.” 

“ Stay a moment,” said Lord Frederick 
Seymour, as the friends of the beautiful girl 
would have pressed more warmly than ever 
around her; “let me speak one word. By 
the request of Miss Worthington, I have re¬ 
frained from mentioning the honor she has 
conferred upon me, and which is the crown¬ 
ing pride and happiness of my life. When I 
asked her to become my wife, to give me the 
priceless treasure of her love, she told me the 
story you have just heard, and I, too, joined 
my entreaties to those of her aunt. Mot,” 
he added, haughtily, “ that I valued my fu¬ 
ture wife the less, but I understood that, 
even in our society, there are some ignoble 
enough to count her early misfortunes as a 
shameful fact, and ignore the beauty of char- j 
acter that could keep her noble, pure, and 
true, even in the lowly home to which the 
misfortune of her parents condemned her. 
Miss Worthington, will you take my arm to 
the conservatory ? You are pale, and need 
rest.” 

With an air of tender affection, of fond 
pride, he led her through the group of friends, 
who spoke warmest words as she passed. 

Finding her a seat near the fountain, he 
said, in a low tone, “ I am glad they all 
know it, Essie, for a secret is a troublesome 
burden.” 

“ But, you—oh, Fred ! if it shames you 

“Hush! I never honored you so highly, 


or loved you so fondly, as I did when that 
girl found insulting taunts answered by your 
own dignified frankness. We will not speak 
of it again. Rest here until 1 bring you an 
ice, and we will return to our friends.” 

“ Maude,” Cora said, as the girls unbound 
their hair in their own room before retiring, 
“I don’t think your little scene was alto¬ 
gether a success. From the warmth of her 
friends, when Esther Worthington returned 
to the drawing-room, and Lord Frederick 
Seymour’s devotion, I really imagine you 
placed that lady upon a higher pedestal of 
favor than ever, in your amiable endeavor 
to take her down.” 


A FEARLESS AND TRUTHFUL JUDGE. 

I once heard this anecdote of Judge Par¬ 
sons, the great Massachusetts advocate and 
lawyer. It is said that being about to try 
a mercantile case, he ordered a jury to be 
summoned, and among the names was that 
of Colonel Thomas II. Perkins, the leading 
merchant of Boston in that day, and a per¬ 
sonal friend of Judge Parsons. When the 
officer made his return, he laid down a fifty- 
dollar bill before the judge. 

“What is that?” said Parsons. 

“ Colonel Perkins says he is very busy, in¬ 
deed, to-day, and prefers to pay his fine.” 

“ Take that back to Colonel Perkins,” said 
the judge, “ and tell him to come here at 
once; and if he refuses, bring him by force.” 

When Colonel Perkins appeared, the judge 
looked sternly at him, and said, “What do 
you mean, sir, by sending money when you 
were summoned to sit on this jury?” 

Colonel Perkins replied, “ I meant no dis¬ 
respect to the court, your honor; but I was 
exti’emely busy fitting out a ship for the 
East Indies, and I thought if I paid my fine 
I might be excused.” 

“Fitting out a ship for the East Indies, 
sir!” shouted the judge; “and how happens 
it that you are able to fit out a ship for the 
East Indies ?” 

“ Your honor, I do not understand you.” 

“ I repeat, then, my question,—How is it 
that you are able to fit out a ship for the 
East Indies? If you do not know, I will 
tell you. It is because the laws of your 
country are properly administered. If they 
were not, you would have no ships. Take 
your seat, sir, with the jury .”—James Free¬ 
man Clarke. _ 

An Irishman’s friend having fallen into a 
slough, the Irishman called loudly to another 
for assistance. The latter, who was busily- 
engaged in cutting a log, and wished to pro¬ 
crastinate, inquired, “How deep is the gen¬ 
tleman in ?” “ Up to his ankles.” “Then, 

there is plenty of time,” said the other. 
“No, there is not,” rejoined the first; “I 
forgot to tell you he’s in head first.” 













16G 


PRESIDENT JAMES 


A. GARFIELD’S 


memorial JOURNAL. 


[From the Indian Female Evangelist.] 

THE NEED OF WOMEN DOCTORS IN INDIA. 

Punna is the capital of a native state in 
Bundelcund, Central India, a city of 12,000 
inhabitants, situated about 200 miles south 
of Lucknow and 100 south of Allahabad. 
The sovereign of this state, the maharajah 
of Punna, applied to Miss Beilby, a lady med¬ 
ical missionary at Lucknow, for medical at¬ 
tendance for his wife, the maharanec, who 
had long been suffering from a painful inter¬ 
nal disease. It would have been impossible 
for her to have obtained relief at the hands ot 
any but a lady doctor, as native customs pre¬ 
clude an inmate of a zenana from being seen 
by any man but her father, husband, or 
brother. The call was an urgent one, and Miss 
Beilby went to Punna to attend the mahara- 
nee, residing many weeks in the midst of this 
heathen court, and in a native city where 
there is no other European. Her skill and 
care in the treatment of this Indian princess 
were blessed and a cure effected. She was 
also able, while in attendance on the malmr- 
anee, to relieve many poor patients in the 
city and in the native hospital. 

When the time of her departure from Pun¬ 
na arrived she was desired to present her¬ 
self at the palace to take leave of her royal 
patient, on Wednesday, the 13th of April 
last. The maharanee received her in her 
private room, and almost immediately 
dismissed all her attendants and ladies, so 
that she might be quite alone with her. The 
maharanee then said she wished Miss Beilby 
to make her a solemn promise. Without 
knowing what it might involve she was re¬ 
luctant to do this, but at length the mahar¬ 
anee said, “You are going to England, 
and I want you to tell our queen and the 
Prince and Princess of Wales, and the men 
and women in England, what the women in 
the zenanas in India suffer when they are 
sick. Will you promise me to do this?” 
She explained that it was no social change 
in their condition she sought, but relief in 
their cruel sufferings. She charged Miss 
Beilby to give this message herself to the 
great queen of England; not to send it 
through any other channel, but to take it 
herself, or Her Majesty would think less of it. 

Miss Beilby represented to the maharanee 
the difficulty she would have in getting ac¬ 
cess to the queen; that with us it is not as 
in the East, where any one can go to the 
palace and lay a petition before the native 
sovereign. Besides, she told her sho hardly 
knew what good it would do if she could do 
as she wished and take her message to our 
queen. The queen could not make lady 
doctors, or order them to go out. It was 
not in the power of even the great queen of 
England to do this. “ But,” said the mahar¬ 
anee, “ did you not tell mo our queen was 
good and gracious; that she never heard of 


sorrow or suffering without sending a mes¬ 
sage to say how sorry she was, and trying H 
help? Did you not show me a picture of 
a train falling into the sea, where a bridge 
broke, and did you not tell mo how grieved 
our queen was? Well, it was very sad that 
those people should have been killed, but oui 
condition is far worse. If you will only tell 
our queen what we Indian women suffer 
when we arc sick, I am sure she will feel for 
us and try to help us.” Miss Beilby felt she 
could no longer refuse to promise to convey 
this message if possible. r I he maharanee next 
bade her write it down at once (giving her 
pen, ink, and paper), lest she should forget 
it, and added: “Write it small, Dr. Miss 
Sahiba, for I want to put it in a locket and 
you arc to wear this locket round your neck 
till you see our great queen, and give it her 
yourself. You are not to send it through 
another.” 

On Miss Beilby’s return to England, the 
queen, having been told by some of the 
ladies of her court of Miss Beilby’s work and 
her message, determined, in spite of all dif¬ 
ficulties and many engagements, to see her 
and hear all for herself, and accordingly sent 
for her. Her Majesty listened with great 
interest, asking many questions and show¬ 
ing the deepest sympathy. Turning to 
her ladies, she said, “We had no idea it was 
as bad as this. Something must be done for 
these poor creatures.” The maharanee’s 
locket, with its message, was given to the 
queen, and Her Majesty intrusted Miss 
Beilby with a message in reply, which was 
intended for the maharanee alone. But the 
queen also gave Miss Beilby a message 
which might be given to every one with 
whom she spoke on the subject,—“ Wo should 
wish it generally known that we sympa¬ 
thize with every effort made to relieve the 
suffering state of the women of India.” 

The maharanee, in parting with Miss 
Beilby, said, in solemn and earnest accents, 
“Ifyou forgot your promise, our God will 
judge you.” 


MOTHERS AS TEACHERS. 

Helen and Hester have not quite ceased 
their early disputations. One day we were 
all going to visit Cousin Ann. Hester put 
on Anna a clean calico frock, a pair of stout 
shoes, and a wide-brimmed hat ; Helen 
dressed little Tom in embroidered skirts, 
wide sash, and kid boots. Hester argued 
that we deprived children of their natural 
right to develop healthfully and free of care, 
when we loaded them with fine clothes 
which they must take care of. “A child of 
Tom’s age is a hearty little animal in one- 
halt of its nature, and has a right to un¬ 
trammelled exercise, plenty of air and sun, 
and playing in ‘clean dirt’ like earth and 
sand. Parents are unjust who deprive chil¬ 


dren of out-door life for fear that they will 
mar their complexions, or of exercise lest 
they tear their clothes. We load children 
unnecessarily with the curse of the fall 
when we load them with unneedful cloth¬ 
ing; their clothes should not be a care to 
them, but such clothes as they could forget 
and be happy. What a spectacle to make 
angels weep did I see lately on Chestnut 
Street! A nine-year-old miss, in rich silk 
and lace, and flounces, and feathers, watch, 
fan, chains, rings, parasol, necklace, brace¬ 
lets, lace pocket-handkerchief,—costing, per¬ 
haps, six or seven hundred dollars of dress 
as she stood,—mincing along in tight boots 
and tight waist, pale-cheeked, and tired out.' 
And I thought of plump, rosy little country 
lassies, in gingham gown and best white 
apron, easy shoes, and sheltering sunbonnet, 
racing along the roadsides, swinging a book- 
satchel, and able to climb a fence or tree like 
a boy or a squirrel, and I thanked God that 
there would be at least a few women left for 
the next generation.” 

The fact is, Helen, while fond of her chil¬ 
dren, feels that her chief mission is to their 
clothes ; to keep them well dressed, well fed, 
and triven nice rooms. She does not realize 
that the best thing a mother can give her 
children is—herself. We were at Helen’s 
one day, when little Tom ran in with a fuzzy 
ball,— 

“ Mamma ! what is this ?” 

“Tom, pet! your feet! all dusty, and— 
don’t touch my work, your hands are dirty— 
pray throw that thing out.” 

“ But what is it, mamma? what is it?” 

“Why, I don’t know, child; a bit of cot¬ 
ton, perhaps.” 

Tom looked disappointed. “ Such a child,” 
said Helen ; “forever asking questions!” 

Hester took Tom, helped herself to a plate 
and tumbler, went out on the veranda, 
made a large spider captive, and returned. 
Tom screamed at the spider. 

“Come, come,” said Hester, “don’t be a 
silly boy. See here: this is Mrs. Spider. 
She is a mamma, and instead of three babies 
like your mamma, she has about a hundred. 
To keep her babies warm and dry, she spun 
them this fuzzy ball which you brought in , 
it is their cradle. Come and look what soft, 
yellow silk blankets; peep in now, while I 
pull the blanket open; do you see all those 
little squirming things? Those are Mis- 
Spider’s babies, kicking about because their 
bed-clothes are off. Those little shiny balls 
are more babies, not big enough to kick , 

“Oh, how little! will they grow big? 
cried Tom. 

“ Yes, they will be as big as their lnanuna, 

by and by.” . 

“But so many! they'll run all ovei t 

house.” _ . 

“No, Tom; as they begin to get out. vain 

and cold will kill some; the birds and 










PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


107 


insects will eat a good many, and so only 
very few will live to get as big as Spider 
Mamma.” 

“Poor weeny spiders; let’s put ’em all 
out-doors now.” 

“ Bless me,” said Helen, when Hester re¬ 
turned, “you’d be a treasure to Tom, if you’d 
satisfy his mind that way.” 

“ Dear Helen,” said Hester, “ it is your 
duty to satisfy his mind. If you teach him 
to take an interest in natural things, talk to 
him, and till his little head with the good 
and useful, and the wonders of God’s work, 
you will leave little room in it for vice and 
folly, that some day might break your heart.” 

“But I’ve no time, Hester,” pleaded Helen. 

“ Take time for what is so important. 
Have less ruffles and fancy trimmings; and 
you can talk to him while you sew or nurse 
the baby; look at his curiosities, and talk of 
them.” 

“ But I don’t know about all these wonders 
of nature.” 

“You can know easily enough. News¬ 
papers and magazines are full of articles on 
natural history; if you cannot read all that 
is in the magazine, omit the stories. There 
are dozens of cheap little books on insects, 
birds, shells, animals. •Feel it a duty to read 
these for your children’s sake. Throw away 
the novels and read these. I think fewer 
wives would complain of loneliness in the 
needful absence of their husbands, and their 
own severance from society, if they set seri¬ 
ously about being the companions and teach¬ 
ers and friends of their children, and making 
these children companions for themselves. 
Have Mark put up two or three low shelves 
in the hall, and encourage Tom to make a 
museum there of his wonderful curiosities. 
If you talk with him about them you may 
make a philosopher of him; at least you 
will make him an observing and happy little 
boy. In all your work it would, if you once 
accustomed yourself to it, be a relief to your 
own mind, and a great pleasure, also, to 
satisfy the curiosity of your child, and de¬ 
velop his growing thoughts .”—From “Com¬ 
plete Home," by Julia McNair Wright. 


CHOOSING A WIFE. 

One day Marmaduke Oates looked into 
the glass, and was struck with the fact that 
he was not as }’oung as he used to be. The 
day before he had heard some one speak of 
him as an old bachelor. To be sure, it was 
a very silly young person, his niece, who 
was not yet sixteen, but he had not liked it 
very much. And what was not, in his opin¬ 
ion, quite true now, might become true it he 
lived longer without marrying. A man ol 
middle age was much more solid and respect¬ 
able at the head of a family, very much 
more so. 


“I think I shall marry,” said Mr. Oates, 
with an air of decision. 

“ 1 wonder how it would have been by 
this time,” he said to himself, “if long ago, 
when I liked her so much, Delia Abbott had 
liked me as well; if she had not married 
Mr. Roper (and why she married him 1 
could never tell), and had married me? I 
wish I had never asked her to have me. We 
might have been friends still.” 

Then he considered. 

“ I was the one offended,” he said. “ If I 
choose to forgive, I may, I suppose; Delia is 
a widow now, with a son as old as she was ! 
when I saw her last. I’ll call on her. She’s 
been married. I’ll get her opinion of married 
life. Perhaps she may know some young 
lad} 7 who would suit me. One of the advan¬ 
tages of marrying late in life is that a man 
can have a young wife who will be young to 
him always, and no desire to do as Douglas 
Jerrold suggests, change his wife as people 
do bank-notes,—two twenties for one forty. 
Delia can’t be far from forty now. How the 
time flies.” 

That day, when the proper hour for calls 
had come, Mr. Oates rang Mrs. Roper’s door¬ 
bell. Having been shown into the parlor, 
he waited for some time before a rustling 
sound announced the approach of a black 
silk dress; then a lady stood in the door¬ 
way, and there was a pause. He had sent 
up his card, and Delia—for this was Delia— 
had known whom she should see, as well as 
he knew whom he should; but each gave a 
little start and then exclaimed almost simul¬ 
taneously,— 

“Dear me, how stout you’ve grown.” 

But it was Delia, after all; Mr. Oates saw 
that in a few minutes. The pretty little 
nose and the soft little mouth were there; 
the hands were prettier than ever; and just 
at that moment she said,— 

“ I begin to know you. How odd it seems. 
You’re not married, are you ?” 

“No,” said Mr. Oates. “I’m an old bach¬ 
elor.” 

“Dear me,” said Mrs. Roper; “so you are.” 

He had expected her to say,—“ Oh, dear, 
no 1” 

“ I’ve been through so much since you saw 
me,” said the widow, taking out her hand¬ 
kerchief. “ We’ve lost poor pa, you know— 
of course you know that.” 

“ I always thought your father died in 
your infancy, Delia,” replied Mr. Oates. 
Then he added,—“Beg pardon.” 

“ Oh, no,” said Mrs. Roper, “ call me Delia, 
if you like. It reminds me of old times. But 
I didn’t mean my father. I’ve called Mr. 
Roper ‘pa’ so many times, that I forgot that 
you wouldn’t understand. Speaking to the 
children, you know, gets one used in the 
habit.” 

“ Yes, I know you had a son,” said Mr. 
Oates. 


“And a daughter,” said Mrs. Roper. 
“ Effie, she’s to be married next week.” 

“ Shall I congratulate you ?” said Mr. 
Oates. 

“Oh, yes,” said Delia, “ he’s very nice. J 
wonder you haven’t thought of marrying, 
Marmaduke.” 

“ Well, I am thinking of it.” 

“Who is she?” asked the lady, looking 
down at the pattern on the carpet. 

“Oh, I haven’t decided,” said Marma¬ 
duke; “and do you know I think I will ask 
you to help me. As a matron of experience, 
with grown children, you must know girls 
that are nice and young and pretty, and to 
whom you could introduce me, don’t you ?” 

“Oh, yes,” said Delia, “I’m sure I will, 
too. A r ou must come often, and Effie shall 
ask her friends. I know a very pretty 
widow, but she’s twenty-three.” 

“I’d rather marry a girl in her teens,” 
said Mr. Oates. “ There’s something so 
fresh and sweet about a girl in her teens; 
don’t you think so, Delia?” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Roper, in a very low 
voice. And then she added,—“And a gen¬ 
tleman with money can always get a young 
wife, even at your age.” 

“ I am not an octogenarian yet, however,” 
said Mr. Oates, sharply. 

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Roper, “you are only 
a year and four months older than I am. I 
have such a good memory for things of that 
sort. You were forty years old in Septem¬ 
ber.” 

It was very candid of her; but then she 
knew that Mr. Oates knew her age already, 
and so could afford to stab him. 

However, she soothed him afterwards, so 
that when he left he promised to call again. 
He did call. He went to Effie’s wedding 
and gave her a present of silver, and then he 
settled down into a friend of the family ; and 
as it Avas known he was really looking for a 
wife, Mrs. Roper actually did introduce a 
number of young ladies to him. Some 
blondes, some brunettes, some neither,— 
lively girls, grave girls, accomplished girls, 
sensible girls, and all so nice. He was hard 
to please; none of these angels was the 
angel of his dream. The winter passed, and 
he had not yet chosen a wife. Mrs. Roper, 
as an old, long-married friend, professed a 
deep interest in his future. She herself 
favored a Miss Baker, a wonderful house¬ 
keeper. Miss Baker did not seem loth to 
listen to anything this good-looking, Avell-to- 
do <rentleman had to say. But he seemed to 
have nothing serious to communicate, and 
when the winter had gone and spring had 
followed, and people were talking of summer 
holiday-making, the old bachelor sat with 
the friend of his youth in her cosey back 
parlor, and she said to him,— 

“ Really, Marmaduke, I’m sorry; I thought 
you Avould certainly be pleased with Miss 






GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


168 


PRESIDENT JAMES A 


Baker. I begin to doubt that you have a 
heart to give.” 

“ So do I,” said Marmaduko, turning aside. 

“And it is a pity,” said Delia; “ lor 1 m 
sure you’d make such a good husband. 

“ You didn’t think so once, Delia,” said 
Marmaduke. 

“Oh, you can’t tell what I thought,” said 
Delia. 

“I know what you said,” said Marma¬ 
duke. “ I know how miserable you made 
me.” 

“Men are so stupid,” said Delia. “They 
think a girl must mean just what she says.” 

“Doesn’t she? Didn’t you?” asked Mar¬ 
maduke. lie came nearer to Mrs. Roper 
and took her hand. She did not take it from 
him. 

“What is the use of your thinking of 
things that lie so far in the past?” said she. 

“But tell, didn’t you?” said Marmaduke. 

“It can’t matter now,” she persisted. 

“ It does,” said he. “ Delia, you say you 
think I would make a good husband—prove 
it. A woman of your age ought to mean 
what she says, if a girl doesn’t.” 

“ But how can I prove it?” asked she. 

“ By marrying me,” said he. 

“Oh, you should not joke,” said she. 
“ Such jokes are not nice.” 

“I am in earnest,” he answered. “Will 
you have me, Delia?” 

“ I thought you wanted a girl of sixteen ?” 
she asked. 

“No,” said he; “I want a girl I loved 
when she was sixteen. A girl I’ve loved, 
though I scarcely knew it, ever since.” 

Delia looked up in his face. 

“Marmaduke,” said she, “I only said no 
because I wanted you to ask me again. I 
was sorry, very sorry, afterwards, but what 
could I do ?” 

Then she began to cry. 

“Poor pa was very kind,” she said, “and 
he never knew; and it seemed like a dream 
that you should kiss me again.” For he had 
done it. 

“ But you haven’t answered me,” said he. 

“ Haven t I ? said she; “ how stupid men 
are—yes.” 


FACETI/E. 

It carried the beholder back to tbirP 
years ago, when the threshing-machine wa 
heatd only tit laic intervals, and the hones 
farmer spread his golden stalks on the clcai 
barn floor and failed away with such tern 
pered blows that not a kernel was broken 
I he man who had it sat down on one of tin 
benches in the West Circus Park. The ran 
sight of such an article halted every pedes 
trian, and the man had to keep explaining 
over and over. “ Well, I’ll have some bean: 
to shell this fall, and I kinder thought ’twoulc 
be easier to flail ’em out. The hardware mar 
told me he had to send to Vermont tor it ’ 


Pretty soon, along came a gray-beaded al¬ 
derman, and when lie saw that Had be 
looked ten years younger all at once. “I 
handled that fur over ten years,” he said, 
as he picked it up and spat on his hands. 
“Seems like old times to get hold of this 
hickory again.” He stepped out on one side 
to give the crowd an exhibition on the grass, 
and his success was great. At the second 

ii a *i hAnifnim 1 in miH-nir wo )- 


bled about, and finally came down with a 
whack on the patriot’s head, making him 
see more stars than a winter’s night ever 
brought out. He dropped the weapon with 
the remark that he was already ten minutes 


late in keeping an appointment; and he was 
rubbing his skull as far down the street as 
he could be seen. The next man to try it 
was one who got off a passing car under the 
idea that a dog-fight was in progress. “A 
flail? Ha, ha! Why, I haven’t seen a flail 
since I was married.” lie chuckled as he 
reached for it. “ I presume I have flailed a 
thousand bushels of wheat in my time. You 
boys, stand back there.” The boys retreated, 
and the man lifted the flail on high and pat¬ 
ted the grass in a vigorous manner. “ l T es ; 
my stint used to be twenty bushels a da}’,” 
he continued, “ though I do say it myself. 

I-” Something happened. He dropped 

the flail, seized his jaw, and danced off as if 
he had springs under him ; and although a 
dozen voices asked what hit him, he refused 
to tell. By and by, a third man came sailing 
along; and, when he saw the flail, he re¬ 
marked that his father had used one like it 
nearly all his life, and was called the smart¬ 
est flailer in New Hampshire. “Can’t you 
use it?” inquired one of the crowd. “Why, 
of course. If you boys want to see how our 
fathers got their wheat to mill, I’ll give you 
a little exhibition. Here, bub, hold my hat.” 
lie buttoned his coat, moistened his hands, 
and began work. The first blow nearly broke 
a man’s knee; the second cracked against a 
boy’s elbow; and at the third, the flailer 
grabbed the top of his head and sat down 
with a subdued look in the corners of his 
mouth. “ Well, I guess I’ll be jogging along,” 
said the owner of the flail, as he rose up. 
u H’s all in getting the kink of it. A feller 
who makes twists and wobbles a special 
study won’t get his head broke over twice a 
day ; but a green hand might as well sit 
down under a brick-kiln durin’ a tornader. 
Day, gentlemen .”—Free Press. 

A congregation, anxious to get rid of 
their pastor, were considerably perplexed 
how to do it without hurting his feelings. 
After considerable discussion, they concluded 
to inform him they were obliged to reduce 
his salary. A delegation was appointed to 
''ait on him and notify him of the fact. 

Brethren,” was the reply, “I have been 
with you in prosperity, and I will never de¬ 
sert you in adversity.” 


ITEMS OF INTEREST. 

Tiie tongue of the crocodile is not suffi 
ciently movable to allow of its removing 
anything which may stick against the roof 
of its mouth ; and its front legs are too stiff 
and much too short to be used for that p Ur 
pose. At St. Domingo and in Egypt the 
crocodile is greatly annoyed by swarms of 
mosquitoes, or gnats, which enter its mouth 
in such numbers* that the roof of it, which 
is of a bright yellow throughout, is covered 
with them, arranged side by side. All these 
sucking insects thrust their trunks into the 
orifices of the numerous glands in its mouth 
and torment it so much that it would die in 
consequence, if God had not ordained that 
another creature should assist it. The croco¬ 
dile opens its immense mouth, and a little 
bird, of the plover kind, very common by 
the water-side, hops fearlessly into it, and 
devours the insects sticking to its roof. The 
crocodile is grateful for the services of the 
bird, and is careful to do it no harm. Her¬ 
odotus, more than two thousand years ago, 
and Pliny, about seventeen hundred years 
ago, mentioned this singular fact, which in 
modern times has been observed by Ilassel- 
quist and Descourtils .—Notes and Queries. 

An Amusing Legend of Adam and Eve. 
—When Eve was presented by the Almighty 
to Adam, she was all that he could wish, 
except that she could not speak. Adam 
represented to the great Creator this sad 
defect in his wife; and he was told to pluck 
a sage leaf, and rub it over her tongue, and 
that she would then be able to talk. Adam 
gathered a whole handful of sage leaves, 
and rubbed them all upon Eve’s tongue. 
She at once began to speak, and kept on 
talking so fast that Adam again complained 
to God that now his wife talked too much. 

“ That,” said the Almighty, “is all your own 
fault. I told you to rub only one leaf, and 
if you had so done your wife would have 
spoken moderately and at seasonable times, 
but as you disobeyed my order, and em¬ 
ployed a whole handful of sage leaves, yon 
must be content to abide by the come 
quences .”—Notes and Queries. 


EPITAPHS. 

“ Here I lie, at the chancel dooi, 
Here I lie because I’m poor. 

The farther in, the more you pay, 
Here I lie as warm as they. 


“ What was she? . 

What every good woman ought to 

That was she.” 


die’s dead, and here she ’ 
body laughs and nobody 

^ . . i.« tores. 























//s ^ 




nj/'-T FOR nip. 


umamsar the public schools ofthf. cnr of mu.mil 








PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


THE GRAY SWAN. 

BY ALICE CAKEY. 

“Oh, tell me, sailor, tell me true, 

Is my little lad, my Elihu, 

A-sailing with your ship?” 

The sailor’s eyes were dim with dew. 
“Your little lad, your Elihu ?” 
lie said with trembling lip, 

“What little lad, what ship?” 

“ What little lad ! as if there could he 
Another such a one as he! 

What little lad, do you say ? 

Why, Elihu, that took to the sea 
The moment I put him off my knee. 

It was just the other day 
The Gray Swan sailed away.” 

“ The other day ?” the sailor’s eyes 
Stood open with a great surprise; 

“ The other day ? The Swan ?” 

Ilis heart began in his throat to rise. 

“Ay, ay, sir; here in the cupboard lies 
The jacket he had on.” 

“ And so your lad is gone ?” 

“ Gone with the Swan.” “And did she stand 
With her anchor clutching hold of the sand 
For a month, and never stir?” 

“ Why, to be sure ! I’ve seen from the land, 
Like a lover kissing his lady’s hand, 

The wild sea kissing her, 

A sight to remember, sir.” 

“ But, my good mother, do you know 
All this was twenty years ago? 

I stood on the Gray Swan’s deck, 

And to that lad I saw you throw, 

Taking it off, as it might he—so! 

The kerchief from your neck.” 

“ Ay, and he’ll bring it back.” 

“And did the little lawless lad 
That has made you sick and made you sad, 
Sail with the Gray Swan’s crew?” 
“Lawless! the man is going mad! 

The best boy ever mother had ; 

Be sure he sailed with the crew! 

What would you have him do?” 

“And he has never written line, 

Nor sent you word, nor made you sign, 

To say he was alive?” 

“Hold ! if ’twas wrong, the wrong is mine! 
Besides, he may be in the brine, 

And could he write from the grave? 

Tut, man, what would you have?” 

“Gone twenty years—a long, long cruise. 
’Twas wicked thus your love to abuse; 

But if the lad still live, 

And came back home, think you you can 
Forgive him!” “Miserable man, 

You’re mad as the sea—you rave. 

What have I to forgive?” 

22 


The sailor twitched his shirt so blue 
And from within his bosom drew 
The kerchief. She was wild. 
“My God, my Father! is it true? 
My little lad, my Elihu! 

My blessed boy, my child! 

My dead, my living child!” 


SUGAR-REFINING. 

Almost everybody has a sweet tooth, and 
sugar can be found everywhere. But Amer¬ 
ica is blessed beyond most countries with a 
good supply from various sources. Cuba and 
the other M est India Islands and Demerara 
furnish us with the cane sugar in large quan¬ 
tities; while sorghum, which was introduced 
from China, the white sugar beet, which 
came from France, and the maple, all of 
which are grown in various parts of the 
United States, contribute largely to the 
supply. 

Sugar-refining is carried on very largely 
in this country. It sprung into existence in 
England about three hundred years ago, and 
had assumed enormous proportions at one 
time. The system of bounties, however, on 
the exportation of the refined sugar, intro¬ 
duced by other countries, has dealt a very 
severe blow to the industry in England; and 
it is principally out of the grievances of 
British sugar refiners that the present “fair 
trade” agitation in England has originated. 
In former times, eggs, blood, and lime-water 
were chiefly used in the refining of sugar, 
the liquor being poured into moulds and 
drained, after having been heated and 
skimmed, and the impurities removed. 
Now, animal charcoal, defecators, vacuum 
pans, and centrifugals are used to produce 
the loaf-sugar and the other fine qualities. 
Twenty or thirty years ago the machinery 
used in the sugar-growing countries was of 
the rudest. Brown, or Muscovado sugar 
was the only quality that was made, it being 
shipped to foreign markets, where it passed 
through the hands of the refiners, and was 
re-exported for sale to the very countries 
from which it came. This anomaly is, how¬ 
ever, disappearing. Central factories, with 
every improvement and appliance for the 
manufacture of sugar, arc springing into ex¬ 
istence in all the sugar-growing countries, 
and in the course of time the foreign refining 
will cease to have its raison d'etre. The 
sugars will go from these countries direct to 
the grocers, and the functions of the foreign 
refiner will be at an end. The system of 
central sugar factories, of which the French 
West India Islands have been the pioneers, 
ma}’ be looked upon as among the most suc¬ 
cessful enterprises in existence. 

Like most things, nowadays, sugar does 
not escape adulteration, a miserable ingre¬ 
dient known as glucose being largely used 


1(19 

J in the concoction of an inferior article which 
I is palmed off for the genuine. It is desirable, 
therefore, to draw your supply of sugar from 
grocers oi standing and respectability, and 
| we know of no better names in this line 
in New York than Messrs. Acker, Merrall 
& Condit, Forty-second Street and Broad- 
way; Park & Telford, Twenty-first Street 
and Broadway; \\ m. II. Jackson, 1298 and 
1300 Broadway; W. S. Corwin, 1231 Broad- 
way, and J. ^ ates & Co., 1248 Broadway. 

Among the refiners are Messrs. Have- 
meyers & Elder, 117 Wall Street; The F. 
O. Matthiessen & \\ iechers Sugar Refining 
Co., 110 Wall Street; The Brooklyn Sugar 
Refining Co., 98 Wall Street; Dick A Meyer, 
911 Wall Street; Moller, Sierck & Co., 90 
Wall Street; C. W. Durant & Son, 99 Wall 
Street; The Booth & Edgar Sugar Refining 
Co., 100 Wall Street; Burger, Hurlbut A 
Livingstone, 91 Wall Street; The North 
River Sugar Refinery, 91 Wall Street; Bur¬ 
dick, Frisbie A Co., 93 Wall Street; The 
Livingstone Sugar Refinery, 91 Wall Street; 
The Havemeyer Sugar Refining Co., 112 
Wall Street. 

Brokers, Messrs. Skiddy, Minford A Co., 
101 Mall Street; Edey, Turnure A Co., 103 
Wall Street ; Bowerman Bros., 104 Wall 
Street. 


LADIES’ SHOES. 

Could the ladies of two centuries ago pay 
a visit to our grand workshops and shoe 
emporiums, they would be mightily sur¬ 
prised at the variety of the foot-gear of our 
day. True it is that the ladies of all ages 
have taken pains to obtain shoes calculated 
to beautify the foot. The nations of antiquity 
used sandals, some of which were highly 
ornamented and beautiful. In the middle 
ages, ladies’ shoes were made of such costly 
materials, and had become an object of so 
much extravagance, that laws were passed 
to check the frivolous expenditure. At 
present we live in a practical age, where the 
ladies rank side by side with the other sex 
in the struggle for existence, and they need 
shoes for work as well as ornament. The 
French are believed to be very particular in 
| the matter of shoes, and in this branch of 
business have undoubtedly attained a high 
degree of excellence. But we venture to 
say that the most fastidious of French 
coquettes who visit our shores would find it 
difficult not to be pleased with the dainty 
little boots and shoes of native manufacture 

which beautify the feet of our dames and 

I 

damsels, and show to such perfection the 
lovely ankles for which they are distin- 
I guished. 

Among the notable houses in this branch 
of trade may be mentioned Messrs. Sellers 
A Co., 636 Arch Street, Philadelphia, and 
Messrs. Slater A Co.. Twenty-eighth Street 
and Broadway, New York. 















170 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


PRINCIPLE IN BUSINESS. 

Entirely apart from all moral and religious 
obligations, principle is an absolute requisite 
to any great and permanent success in busi¬ 
ness. Let two men be engaged in any branch 
of trade, with the same external advantages, 
the one a conscientious, truthful man, the 
other unscrupulous and a sharper, the man 
of principle will be the more successful. We 
do not think that a man can ever be entirely 
true to principle from mere considerations 
of self-advantage; but, nevertheless, if one’s 
conduct were to be influenced by no other 
and higher motives, the upright course would 
always be found the politic one. The har¬ 
vest reaped by fraud and dishonesty always 
proves temporary and barren. Any young 
man who sets out in life well grounded in 
sound principles, starts on the straight road 
to the largest success. 


SOCIAL CHIT-CHAT. 

Rarely has New York society been called 
upon to welcome so many illustrious foreign 
guests as has been done this winter; and 
thus far the season has been one of unusual 
gayety and social importance. The nation’s 
guests, consisting as they did of the noblest 
of French and German people, not only by 
right of hereditary title, but also by right of 
intelligence and scientific acquirements, were 
proudly received, and feted in every manner 
that American warm-heartedness could de¬ 
vise. Balls, dinners, private receptions and 
public ones, kept the social cauldron bubbling 
as long as they remained. 

We have still with us an English noble- 
man, Lord Beaumont, to whom all doors are 
open, and a welcome extended from every 
house. Among the many ways imagined to 
render the visit of a stranger interesting, 
this noble gentleman was treated to a private 
view of the workings of our Metropolitan 
fire department, which it is safe to say he 
admired. 

We have also on her second visit to this 
country Lady DufFus-IIardy and her young 
daughter Iza. Lady Hardy is the writer of 
many books which have been translated and 
republished in many languages; and she has 
just finished a book on America, in which 
she speaks of us Americans in a broad and 
liberal spirit, which, while it differs from , 
that of most English writers, would be ex¬ 
pected from one of her largo nature and 
kindly heart. 

Lady Hardy’s daughter, though so young, 
is also a writer well known in London and 
Europe as the author of many charming 
novels. Both graced the reception of Mrs. 
Marion Fortescue recently. She, also, is a 
lady of rare ability as a writer. At this re¬ 
ception numbers of the most talented writers 

of the day were present, as well as a number 


of fine musicians, among them Miss Blanche 
Roosevelt. 

The first monthly exhibition of paintings 
at the Union League Club opened with un¬ 
usual brilliancy, more really excellent paint- 
ings being presented than before for a long 
time, and is considered specially good, con¬ 
sidering the fact that there are at the same 
time two loan exhibitions in Philadelphia, 
one of them being very prominent. Every 
afternoon and evening the magnificent build¬ 
ing is thronged with fashionable visitors. 
Among the newer admissions to this famous 
club is the name of President Arthur. 
Several of the most prominent art galleries 
are open now, and are visited daily 7- by peo¬ 
ple of the highest social rank. Fashion has 
set her seal of approval upon art, and it has 
come to be one of the recognized amusements 
to visit the galleries, and to subsequently 
descant more or less understandingly upon 
the respective merits of the paintings. 

There is a marked improvement in the 
physique of our American society belles 
since they have taken to riding on horseback 
so diligently. A few years ago people would 
turn and gaze open-eyed at a lady on horse¬ 
back ; but now, from five o’clock in the morn¬ 
ing, you will find ladies riding in the Park, 
and many of them can follow the hounds 
and take fences and ditches that would call 
up the courage even of an English horse¬ 
woman. Fox-hunting has become a favorite 
pastime with both sexes here, and in time 
we may even rival our mother-country. 
Lawn-tennis, another healthy out-door sport, 
also imported from over the water, is a fash¬ 
ionable amusement, and a movement is now 
on foot to arrange a disused skating-rink for 
winter “lawn-tennis,” though, to be sure, 
the lawn part of it must remain figurative. 

In the way of public amusements we are 
exceptionally favored this winter, having the 
opera at the Academy of Music, with such 
prima donnas as Minnie Hauk, Mile. Yachot, 
and others; Janauschek in her inimitable 
acting; Genevieve Ward and other excellent 


actresses; to 


say notning ot the lorn 


lesser lights in the dramatic world. W 
have tragedy and opera bouffe, drama an 
farce mixed in a manner to suit all tastes 
and above all we hall the incomparabl 
Patti. Her stay was all too short, and thos 
who did hear her will rejoice in after-yean 
when the echo of that melodious voice wi 
pulsate through their memories, that the 
have that memory; and those who did noi 
will sigh vainly, for never shall we hear he 
like again this side the “ echoless shore.” 

The different societies seem also to hav 
revived, and to come out more brilliantly i 
their special lines with unusual vivacity tha 
before for a long time. The Gentlemen’ 
Dining Club have had a very entertainin 
dinner, at which they presented their pres 
dent with a handsome punch-bowl made ( 


hammered silver, the inside gilt. Messrs 
Robert Bonner, Leonard Jerome, and many 
others, assisted at this dinner. The Lotos 
Club had its firstSaturday night” some 
weeks ago. There was a very pleasant and 
congenial meeting. Songs, speeches, recita¬ 
tions, and social converse made the hours 
pass all too swiftly. The “ Capulet Society” 
gave its first entertainment of the season 
chez the Misses Cochran. Selections from 
the best authors were read. Dancing fol¬ 
lowed. Among the guests were Miss Lizzie 
Atwood, Miss Marie Wood, Miss Clara B. 
Deihm, and many other ladies well known 
in the best society. Next meeting the topic 
of discussion will be “ Thanatopsis.” 


BILLIARDS. 

“ Recreation is essential to health,” is an 
axiom the truth of which has been recoff- 
nized ages ago. “All work and no play 
makes Jack a dull boy.” We want recrea¬ 
tion for the mind as well as for the body, 
and it is the mission of billiards to procure 
this double result. The Americans have 
been quick in finding it out. Nowhere in 
the world is this game so popular—except, 
perhaps, in France—and nowhere are the 
good effects so evident as in America. It is 
here almost cultivated as an art. How far 
superior is tho game to the disgusting pas¬ 
times of the ancients and the violent tourna¬ 
ments of the Middle Ages! 

Billiards are supposed to have originated 
from Persia. It is known that the Knights 
Templar brought the game from the East 
to Europe. Queen Elizabeth and Mary, 
Queen of Scots, seem to have been enthu¬ 
siastic play-ers. The best billiard tables and 
appointments are to be found at Messrs. 
Decker & Co.’s, 722 Broadway', and Bruns¬ 
wick & Blake’s, 724 Broadway, New York. 


SOAP. 

Did Cleopatra use soap ? It is almost 
certain she did. The Egyptians were noted 
for their refinement and cleanliness. Indeed, 
we have very early records of their personal 
habits. The Roman ladies used a soap lor 
dyeing their hair red or yellow. The Greeks 
must have used soap ; and, surely, Homers 
princess and her maids, who gave hospitality 
to Odysseus, could not have done that car¬ 
riage-load of washing without soap, The 
first soap manufacture in London was estab¬ 
lished in 1524. It was flourishing two cen¬ 
turies before, as it still is, in the south ot 
France and Spain, where the two chief ma¬ 
terials of its manufacture abound, namely, 
oil and soda. In the United States, in 1MO, 
more than six millions of dollars were m 
vested in this trade. At Messrs. Enoch 
Morgan’s establishment, of Now 5 ork, and 
James Pile, also of New York, the soap can 
be seen in all its stages of manufacture. 






















PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


171 


QUIETNESS AND POWER. 

The grandest forces in this world are silent 
and unperceived. They operate unnoticed, 
but yet with resistless power. A child’s tin 
trumpet makes more noise than the attrac¬ 
tion of gravitation which binds the whole 
universe as with chains of adamant, but 
works so quietly that it was thousands of 
years before mortals discovered its existence. 

A babbling brook, or a little fountain throw¬ 
ing its jets into the air, attracts more atten¬ 
tion than the hidden forces of nature which 
draw millions of tons of water from the earth | 
beneath, spread it out in herbage and foli¬ 
age, clothing the fields with beauty, crowning [ 
the forest with green, and diffusing fertility 
and life through all the land. The forces of 
vegetation are silent. No lightning flashes 
to herald the swelling buds; no thunder 
peals to tell us when flowers unfold their 
fragrant beauty; no trumpets are blown 
when spring unfolds her leafy banners to 
the breeze; but in the sunshine of the day 
and in the silence of the night the work of 
nature goes noiselessly on, until the desert 
blossoms as the rose and the wilderness be¬ 
comes fair as Eden’s garden. 


SOMETHING ABOUT GEMS. 

Some of the members of every household ' 
are interested in all that relates to orna¬ 
ments, particularly when these ornaments 
are precious stones. The following, from the 
Lady's Journal , will therefore be appreciated: 

The ruby is more valuable than the dia¬ 
mond, if it is large, without flaw, and of the 
true pigeon’s-blood color. r l he largest known 
ruby belongs to the king of Burmah, being 
the size of a pigeon’s egg. A fine stone of 
four carats’ weight is worth from £400 to 
£410 ; but above this rate they are very rare, 
and command fancy prices. The ruby has 
been most successfully imitated in paste, and 
garnets backed by a ruby foil are often met 
with. The monster ruby of Charles the 
Bold, set in the middle of a golden rose for 
a pendant, which was captured by the Ber¬ 
nese after his rout at Granson, turned out 
to be false. The sapphire is not so valuable 
when of great size as the ruby, but a fine 
stone brings a great price. The largest sap¬ 
phire is the “ Woodenspoon Seller,” so called 
from the occupation of its finder in Bengal. 
Its weight is 132 1-10 carats, and it was sold 
to a French jeweller for £6800. Lady Bur- 
dett Coutts, of London, has one of the finest 
sapphires. It was formerly one of the crown 
jewels of France. The emerald is so rarely 
perfect that “an emerald without a flaw 
has passed into a proverb, and fine spoci 
mens arc worth from £22 to £50 a carat. 
In the Middle Ages its value was enor¬ 
mous, Cellini putting it at four times the 
diamond. The largest emerald known is the 


Devonshire, which was purchased by the 
Duke of Devonshire from Dom Pedro. It is 
not cut, and is two inches in diameter, weigh¬ 
ing eight ounces eighteen pennyweights. 
The turquoise is found in Persia, and the 
shah is supposed to have in his possession 
all the finest gems, as he allows only those 
of inferior quality to leave the country. In 
consequence, large turquoises of good quality 
and fine color are extremely rare, and real¬ 
ize great prices. The opal is esteemed un¬ 
lucky, but the absurd superstition cannot be 
traced farther back than Scott’s novel of 
“ Anne of Geierstein,” in which the Baroness 
Hcrmoise of Arnhcim weal’s one. The Em¬ 
press Josephine’s opal, called the “ Burning 
of Troy,” from the innumerable red flames 
blazing on its surface, was considered to be 
the finest stone of modern times, but the 
present owner is unknown. In the Museum 
of Vienna is an opal of extraordinary size, 
for which £50,000 has been refused. The 
largest pearl on record is now in Russia. It 
was brought from India in 1620, and sold to 
Philip IV. of Spain. 


HOW BRUSHES ARE MADE. 

How rarely do we consider, when wield¬ 
ing the various brushes that our toilet de- 

O 1 

mands, what a deal of ingenuity and skil¬ 
ful manipulation has been exercised in the 
manufacture of these useful and frequently 
beautiful articles. No oftencr does the 
artist, using his delicate hair pencil as a 
means to the most effective results, give a 
thought to the soft-coated animal that fur- 
nishes such aid to the development of his 
genius, and yet he is indebted to the camel, 
goat, badger, squirrel, etc., for this requi¬ 
site. 

Brushes devoted to the purposes of more 
general utility are made of the bristle fur¬ 
nished by that least attractive of domestic 
animals—the hog. The first process in the 
manufacture of brushes is that of sorting 
out the colors, with black, gray, yellow, 
white, and lilies. The last is the puicst 
white, and is used for tooth and shaving 
brushes. The bristles are passed through 
a series of steel combs, the various degrees 
of coarseness being thus decided. The com¬ 
mon process for making flat brushes is the 
following. A loop of wire is passed through 
the hole" in the stock, a bunch of bristles 
placed in it, and the wire drawn down and 
made secure. They are then clipped to 
the required length. The greatest number 
of tufts drawn in an hour by this hand 
manufacture has been 500 ; the average 
number is 100 per hour. In this work 
women are principally engaged. The pro¬ 
cess adopted by the Florence Manutactming 
Company saves much labor; the stock being 
made in a die, of a hard rubber composition, 
which is composed of two parts the cover, 


in which the ornament is devised, and the 
base, containing holes for the insertion of 
the hair that penetrates from the stock. 
The upper part of the die is then covered 
with a quantity of plastic rubber composi¬ 
tion, after which it is adjusted to its fellow, 
placed in a screw press, and subjected to 
great pressure. In 1870, a machine for 
making flat brushes was invented by Oscar 
D. and E. C. Woodbury, of New York. This 
folds the tufts of hair in the middle, and se¬ 
cures the knuckle by wire passed through 
and wound spirally round it. They are then 
quickly twisted into holes in the back pre¬ 
pared for it. This is accomplished by means 
of a plunger, which doubles and forces the 
tufts into a cone, and, descending with a 
twisting motion, drives the tufts into the 
holes. The fastidious neatness and finish 
that attend the plainest of toilet brushes 
render them attractive and beautiful. 

The exquisite design and finish of the nu¬ 
merous toilet brushes presented to the public 
render them worthy the notice of all inter¬ 
ested in specimens of beautiful workman¬ 
ship. The largest and most varied and at¬ 
tractive assortment of brushes are revealed 
in lavish display at E. Clinton & Co.’s, 931 
and 933 Market Street, Philadelphia. No 
one visiting this store can fail to enjoy the 
choice exhibition of this delicate manufac¬ 
ture, or find it an easy manner to resist the 
temptation to purchase. 


Mourning. —Black is the color of mourn¬ 
ing in Europe. It was also the color of 
mourn ingin ancient Greece, and in the Roman 
Empire. Black and white striped expresses 
sorrow and hope : it is the mourning of the 
South Sea Islanders. Grayish brown is the 
color of the earth to which the dead return: 
it is the color of mourning in Ethiopia. Pale 
brown, the color of withered leaves, is the 
mourning of Persia. In Syria, Cappadocia, 
Armenia, and Turkey, sky-blue is the color of 
mourning, to express the assured hope that 
the deceased is gone to heaven. In Bokhara 
deep blue is the color of mourning. The 
Romans in the republic wore dark blue for 
mourning. In France purple and violet is 
the color of mourning for cardinals and the 
kings. The color of mourning in Turkey is 
violet. The color of mourning in China is 
white, the emblem of “ white-handed hope.” 
The ladies of ancient Rome and Sparta wore 
white for mourning. Henry N III. wore 
white for Anne Boleyn. It was the color of 
mourning in Spain till 1498. In some of the 
provinces of England white silk hat-bands 
are worn as mourning for the unmarried. 
In Egypt and in Burmah yellow is the color 
for mourning. In Brittany widows’ caps 
among the peasants are yellow. Anne Bo- 
leyn wore yellow mourning for Catharine of 
, Aragon. 


















172 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


WORDS TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 

Little girls, do you ever think about the 
meaning of words? This word now, courtesy , 
lias something about it which girls and 
women ought to care for very much indeed. 
You know that hundreds of years ago, in 
Europe, and in many heathen countries now, 
women are not much better than slaves. 
In China, for instance, when company comes 
to a house, the parent presents the boys very 
proudly, but they send the girls out of sight 
as far as possible. They don’t want any¬ 
body to know that they have little daughters 
in their home. 

Gradually, in the Middle Ages, women 
came up from a state of barbarism, and the 
clergy and poets together helped her to win 
her proper place. The lady of the castle 
kept the keys and presided at all the feasts, 
wore beautiful robes of stuff called samite 
and camelot, and gave medicine to the sick. 
She learned surgery, too, and when the sol¬ 
diers and knights came homo from battle, 
wounded and faint, she knew how to set the 
broken bones and bind up the bruised part. 
So everybody treated her politely, and the 
sort of manners which then came to be popu¬ 
lar in place of the old roughness and rude¬ 
ness took the general name of courtesy. 

The Bible bids us to be courteous. Do you 
want to know the highest and loveliest style 
of courtesy which you can practise at home, 
at school, and on the streets? It is all 
wrapped up in one golden phrase, “In honor 
preferring one another.” Suppose you try 
to live with these words for your motto, say, 
at least, for a whole week to come. 


ENGLISH SKIES. 

One effect of the climate of England (it 
must, I think, be the climate) is the mel¬ 
lowing of all sights, and particularly of all 
sounds. Life there seems softer, richer, 
sweeter, than it is with us. Bells do not 
clang so sharp and harsh upon the ear. 
True, they are not rung so much as they are 
with us. Even in London on Sunday their 
sound is not obtrusive. Indeed, the only 
bell-sound in the great city of which I have 
a distinct memory is Big Ben’s delicious, 
mellow boom. In country walks on Sunday 
the distant chimes from the little antique 
spires or towers float to you like silver voices 
heard through the still air. Your own voice 
is hushed by them if you are with a com¬ 
panion, and you walk on in sweet and silent 
sadness. I shall never forget the gentle, 
soothing charm of the Bolney chime in 
Sussex, which, as the sun was leaving the 
weald to that long, delicious twilight through 
which day lapses into night in England I 
heard in company with one whose sagacious 
lips, then hushed for a moment, are now 
silent forever. These English country 
chimes are very different from those that 


stun our ears from Broadway steeples. 
They are simple, and yet are not formless 
jangle; but the performers do not under¬ 
take to play opera airs affetuoso and con ex¬ 
pressions with ropes and iron hammers upon 
hollow tons of metal. . . • 

Whether I was favored by the English 
climate I do not know, but in addition to 
this soft, sweet charm which the air seemed 
to give to everything that was to be seen 
or heard, I found late autumn there as ver¬ 
dant and as variously beautiful as early 
summer is with us, and without the heat 
from which we suffer. In Sussex, the gar¬ 
dens were all abloom, wild flowers in the 
wood, blackberries ripening in the hedges, 
the birds singing, and everything was fresh 
and fragrant. Among the birds I observed 
the thrush and the robin-redbreast; the lat¬ 
ter not that tawny-breasted variety of the 
sinudnu: thrush which is here called a robin, 
but a little bird about half as large, with a 
thin, pointed bill, a breast of crimson, and a 
note which is like a loud and prolonged 
chirrup. It would be charming if we could 
have this man-trusting little feathered fellow 
with us; but I fear that he could not bear 
our winters. In Warwickshire I found roses 
blooming,—blooming in great masses half¬ 
way up the sides of a two-story cottage on 
the road from Stratford-upon-Avon to Kenil¬ 
worth; and this was in the very last days of 
October. True, I had only a few days before 
shivered through a rainy morning drive in 
Essex, when the chill dampness seemed to 
strike into my very heart; but on the whole 
I found myself under English skies healthy, 
happy, and the enjoyer of a succession of 
new delights, which yet seemed to me mine 
by birthright .—Richard Grant White. 


HOTELS. 

There is much to be said in favor of the 
modern hotel. But there are many who 
look back with regret at the comforts and 
pleasant hospitalities of the old inns. With 
the advent of railways, the existence of inns 
was at an end. They are now things of the 
past, America it was that first got up the 
grand monster establishments which are the 
wonder of the world, and are, as yet, but 
poorly imitated in Europe. The Grand 
Hotel in Paris, and the Charing Cross Hotel 
in London, are the two nearest approaches 
to the American model. The modern hotel 
is a human hive, where hundreds, nay, thou¬ 
sands, congregate, are fed and attended to 
with care, and provided with every comfort 
and luxury that money can obtain. Barber’s 
shop, newspaper and book stand, stationery 
shop, post and telegraph offices; all these 
exist in connection with our modern estab¬ 
lishments. Many families prefer to take up 
their abode in thorn to having the troubles 
ami annoyances of housekeeping thrust upon 


them. The number of our hotels goes on 
increasing, in the up-town part of the city 
especially. Still larger ones than the present 
are being run up, and the one in coume of 
completion near Central Park is to cover a 
whole block. 

The following are the names of a few 
among the most respectable hotels in the 
United States,—Fifth Avenue Hotel, Madi¬ 
son Square, Mew York; Windsor Hotel. 
Fifth Avenue, Forty-sixth, and Forty-seventh 
Streets, Mew York; Park Avenue Hotel, 
Thirty-second and Thirty-third Streets, New 
York; Metropolitan Hotel, Broadway and 
Prince Street, Mew York; the United States 
Hotel and the Grand Union, Saratoga 
Springs; and the West End and Merchants’ 
Hotels, Philadelphia. 


JEWELRY. 

The art of making jewelry is one of the 
oldest known. The excavations in the 
ruined cities of Egypt have furnished a 
gi’eat number of ornaments, and so have 
the cities of Assyria and Babylonia. Homer, 
in his “Odyssey,” gives us a description of 
the exquisitely-wrought objects and orna¬ 
ments which Odysseus was presented with 
by the kings and friends he visited. The 
Roman authors give us a record of the 
costly chains and trinkets the Gauls used 
to wear; and they say that the Roman sol¬ 
diers in their battles with the Gauls were 
eager to close with them in order to possess 
themselves of their golden ornaments. 

We have a minute record of the various 
jewelry and trinkets the Hebrew maidens 
used to wear at the time of Mebucbadnezzar, 
from which we learn that they had a very 
exquisite variety of ornaments. 

Thus we can trace this art from the high¬ 
est antiquity down to our present time. 

America has its chief manufacture of jew¬ 
elry on Rhode Island. 

Among the principal jewellers in New 
York and Philadelphia are Messrs. Tiffany 
& Co., Union Square, Mew York; Reed & 
Barton, G8G Broadway, New York; R. M r . 
Tripp & Co., 4 Maiden Lane and 34 West 
Fourteenth Street, New York; J. E. Cald¬ 
well & Co., 902 Chestnut Street, Philadel¬ 
phia; Bailey, Banks & Biddle, Twelfth and 
Chestnut Streets, Philadelphia; Morgan & 
ITeadly, Tenth and Chestnut Streets, Phila¬ 
delphia; II. Mane’s Sons, 633 and 635 Chest¬ 
nut Street, Philadelphia. 

The Canary Bird. —The canary bird in 
its wild state in the Canary Isles is invari¬ 
ably green with a tinge of yellow, il any¬ 
where, along its back. Some wild canaiies 
have a softer, more touching and melodious 
song than any known to us. There, sweet 
singers cannot be tamed, so dear to them is 
liberty. 













173 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 


JOURNAL. 


DOMESTIC BLISS. 

There is a sacred spot on earth, 

Which antedates our joys above ; 

’Tis where we sit, when toil is o’er, 
With those we love. 

Oft, in my waking dreams, I sit 
With the dear darlings of my life, 
And gazo upon those treasured gems— 
My child and wife ! 

The fleeting pleasures of the world, 
Like darkening shadows, fade away, 
And give us glimpses of the bliss 
Which scorns decay. 

Oh, wedded love! God’s dearest gift 
To render all His creatures blest, 

’Tis only ’neath its smile we taste 
A perfect rest! 


PIANOS AND THEIR HISTORY. 

“The man that hath no music in himself, 

Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 

Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.” 

Thus spoke the immortal Shakespeare. 
There must be few, indeed, upon whom 
music has no influence, since from the earli¬ 
est ages it has been the popular diversion 
and solace of humanity; and since the 
ancient days of the classic lyre to the pres¬ 
ent time, it has been the one strenuous effort 
of man to perfect a mechanical means of 
harmony. The harp, psaltery, dulcimer, etc., 
have frequent and familiar mention in the 
Bible. Some instruments are so closely as¬ 
sociated with days of peculiar historic in¬ 
terest, surrounded with their halo of poetry, 
that one is rarely recalled without the other. 
With the days of chivalry we must ever re¬ 
call the guitar struck by the gay troubadour. 
In the days of Queen Bess, she and her 
ladies were entertained with an instrument 
called the virginal, and another, and some¬ 
what similar, commonly known as the spinet. 
The application of a key-board to an instru¬ 
ment was first made in the twelfth century. 
This was the result of the transition from 
the dulcimer to the keyed-eithera, or clavi- 
citherium, and was the first marked ap¬ 
proach to the piano. This was composed 
of a small oblong box, holding a series ot 
strings, in the form of a triangle, and struck 
by plectra of quill attached to the inner 
ends of the keys. The successive improve¬ 
ments upon this were the virginal, spinet, 
clavichord, and harpsichord. The last men¬ 
tioned long maintained its place. r I he most 
distinguished harpsichord-maker of London, 
from 1740 to 1775, was Burekhardt Tschneli, 
a native of Switzerland. His son-in-law, one 
of the earliest piano-makers in England, 
founded the present firm in London ol that 
name. The piano, it would seem, was de¬ 
veloped from their instruments about one 


hundred and sixty years since. The origi¬ 
nal inventor is not known, but it is attri¬ 
buted to Bortolommoo Cristofali, a harpsi¬ 
chord-maker ol Padua. The instrument was 
not appreciated at first, which fact probably 
is the cause of this obscurity regarding the 
inventor. Silbermann Frieburg first became 
popular as a manufacturer; but the first piano 
known in England was made by an English 
monk at Rome in 1757. In 1707 a piano was 
introduced on the stage of Covent Garden 
Theatre as a “ new instrument.” ThePleyel 
action established by Americus Bockcrs, as¬ 
sisted by John Broadwood and Robert Stod- 
art, in London, early adopted by Pleyel & 
Hertz, was essentially the same as that now 
used by Broadwood & Stodart in London. 

Of the three forms in which pianos are 
made, grand, square, and upright, the last 
has been the most popular in England, but 
has been but recently commonly adopted in ; 
the United States. The square pianos of 
the United States are believed to surpass in 
workmanship and perfection of tone those 
of any other country, though the grand ex¬ 
cels in brilliancy, and finds its most appro¬ 
priate place in the concert hall. In the 
construction of the grand piano, all octaves, 
save the two lowest in the scale, have for 
each note three strings attuned in unison, 
and struck at once by the same hammer. 
From four to seven of the lowest strings 
may be single, and through about another 
octave and a half, two strings to each note 
are often used. Until the beginning of the 
present century, efforts at manufacture in 
New York were unimportant. Mr. Jonas 
Chickering, founder of the house of Chick- 
ering & Sons, of Boston and New York, is 
called the father of the business in the 
United States. He was a cabinet-maker, 
and began his piano manufacture in 1822. 
In 1856, Steinway & Sons began the manu¬ 
facture of grands. No essential improve¬ 
ments have taken place in the manufacture 
of pianos in Europe during the past thirty 
years. That the United States outstrips 
Europe in this respect, was proved at the 
Paris Exposition of 1867, where the highest 
honors were awarded to American manu- 


turers. 

For the recent popular adoption of the 
right piano we have to thank Mr. Albeit 
eber, of New York, and Knabe & Co., ol 
Itimorc. These manufacturers have made 
s particular piano their specialty. 1 he j 
avenience and grace which attend this 
■m of the instrument must render it pre¬ 
amble to every other for all private use. 
, e merit of this style of piano is more ( 
ely to be appreciated, from the well- 
own fact that Mr. Albert Weber’s pianos 
ve always excelled in that delicate qual- 
r 0 f tone so essential to the instrument, 
d without which it is such a paltry and 
esome accessory. This exquisite tone 


prevails also in the pianos manufactured 
by Decker & Son. Their new ware-rooms, 
corner. Eighty-seventh Street and Third 
Avenue, New York, are spacious, and offer 
the finest facilities for the display of their 
instruments. 

The gross amount of sales of new pianos 
by the twenty-six leading firms in the 
United States, is distributed as follows: 
New York makers (17), S3,104,783. Boston 
(6), $1,642,500. Baltimore (3), $515,884. 


CARRIAGE-BUILDING. 

The improvement of wheel vehicles has 
necessarily kept pace with the improvement 
of roads. In the east of Europe and in Asia, 
where the art of road-making is still in its 
infancy, the methods of conveyance are of 
the most primitive character. Travelling 
on horseback is in those countries the chief 
method adopted, and camels and mules are 
used for carrying luggage. The higher the 
culture, the better are the means of transport 
and the greater the improvements wrought 
in carriage-building. Hence, in the highly- 
civilized west of Europe carriages are in 
great demand. And yet Europeans cannot 
compare with us in the manufacture of car¬ 
riages. The European carriages are clumsy 
and heavy, while the American article, 
without being less strong and durable, is 
neat, light, and elastic. “Some of the best 
examples of American carriage-building, 
says the work on “ lhc Great Ameiican 
Industries,” “ are afforded by men who have 
risen from obscurity and poverty to wealth, 
success, and reputation, by their own energy, 
industry, and intelligence. Such an instance 
is that of the extensive carriage warehouse 
and factory of the firm of William D. Rogers 
& Co., of Philadelphia, whose history and 
present condition well illustrate the present 
attainments ot American carriage making 
and the power of the personal qualities just 
mentioned in the American business woi Id. 
Another well-known name in this line of 
trade is that of Messrs. Brewster & Co., 
whose carriages are as much prized in 
Europe as they are in the United States. 
Messrs. Brewster & Co.’s warerooms are 
situated at No. 232 Fifth Avenue, corner 
Fourth Street, New York. 


urine, the-sister of the first Napoleon, 
pale green velvet and diamonds. She 
; d to surpass Josephine in dress. .To¬ 
ne was attired in white trimmed with 
When Pauline entered the grand 
u of St. Cloud she soon discovered 
she had forgotten, that the room had 
blue furniture and hangings. She was 
appointed at the contrast between the 
blue furnituro and her dress of pale 
i that sho refused to remain. 
















174 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


TEN REASONS FOR GOING TO CHURCH. 

Some go to church for a walk, 

Some go to church for a talk, 

Some go there to gain a friend, 

Some go there their faults to mend, 
Some go there to see the fashions, 
Some go there to calm their passions, 
Some go there to seek a lover, 

Some go there their faults to cover, 
Some go there to doze and nod, 

Some go there to worship God. . 

—Notes and Queries. 


HOME ATMOSPHERE. 

This atmosphere of the household, which 
either converts to Christ or perverts to 
fashion, folly, and impiety, is commonly 
created by the parents. They are respon¬ 
sible lor it. If the whole trend of house¬ 
hold talk and thought and ambition runs 
towards money-making, or social conviviali¬ 
ties, or general godlessness of any kind, it 
is the father and the mother Avho give the 
pitch. Nowhere is it so difficult to make 
the best preaching or the best Sunday-school 
teaching effective on character as in the ma¬ 
larious air of such a home. As soon expect 
to rear oranges in Lapland as plants of grace 
in so godless an atmosphere. The parental 
influence penetrates through the house with 
as subtle a poison as escaping gas from an 
ill-built furnace. As Dr. Bushnell has pithily 
said, in his incomparable book on a “Chris¬ 
tian Nature,” “Whatever tire the parents 
kindle, the children are found gathering the 
wood. They help as either apprentices or 
accessories.” If the father begins the Sab¬ 
bath with some secular Sunday newspaper, 
the family will help him read it. If the 
parents go irregularly to God’s house, the 
children will hardly care to go at all. If the 
mother is a scandal-monger, she will make 
her children tattlers and eaves-droppors. If 
she directs her servants to say at the door 
that “ she is not at home,” the children will 
learn to be polite liars. If the father puts 
the decanter on his table, the boys will soon 
begin to practise with the fatal glass. That 
rich father who disinherited a son for drunk¬ 
enness, and in the same will bequeathed his 
wine-cellar to certain heirs, gave a very pal¬ 
pable proof of the home atmosphere which 
had poisoned the poor boy. Parental provo¬ 
cation and ill-temper sour the very air of 
many households, so that the children can 
hardly escape being cross, snappish, and ir¬ 
ritable. IIow can piety breathe in such an 
air? How can a family bo trained up in the 
knowledge of God’s word when the hook of 
books is seldom opened and the spirit of its 
instructions is no more known than in the 
house of a Mussulman? Even in the fami¬ 
lies of many professors of religion I do not 
look for any conversions, for I know that the 


influence of the most faithful discourses will 
be destroyed by the malaria of the home. 
It was the atmosphere of Elkanah’s and 
Hannah’s godly house that produced a Sam¬ 
uel. It was the wretched air of Eli’s house 
which ruined Hophni and Phineas. I 1 . L. 
Cuyler, D.D., in Independent. 


BEDS. 

Milton, in his “ Paradise Lost,” pictures 
our first parents as having an arbor of roses 
for a dwelling and a bed of moss and leaves 
for their repose. This primitive style of bed 
was no doubt all that the early dwellers of 
the earth required. Later on, furs were 
substituted, and even in the time of the 
Romans little advance had been made, 
wooden forms or couches, with a sheep- or 
tiger-skin, being used for mattresses, and 
embroidered shawls for coverings. Four 
hundred years after the invasion of England 
by William the Conqueror, we find the want 
of refined culture, then prevailing, manifest¬ 
ing itself in the want of good beds. 

Any one travelling in Turkey and Asia* 
will be struck by the Eastern modes of re¬ 
pose. In Turkey there are no beds. How, 
then, do the people sleep? They rest on 
the floor and upon carpets of more or less 
costly material. This does well enough for 
the Turks, who are an indolent lot, do little 
all day, and are not weary and tired at 
night. For us Americans, necessity has 
made the bed an important object in our 
household economy; and the ways and exi¬ 
gencies of American life have brought con- 
siderable skill to bear upon its manufacture 
with a view to health as well as comfort and 
luxury. The American beds are much 
prized everywhere. 

We can only mention a few among the 
principal manufacturers in this line of trade, 
i.e., Warren, Ward & Co., 6 and 8 East 
Twentieth Street, New York ; C. T. Turett, 
71 and 73 University Place, New York; De 
Graffe & Taylor, 49 West Fourteenth Street; 
and Solomon & Sons, 25 Union Square, 
New York. 


A minister, on ascending the pulpit, said, 
“Let us begin the public worship of God by 

singing to His praise the-hymn,” and, 

having read it, as usual, repeated the first 
lino,— 

“ I love to steal at eve’s calm close.” 

The leader of the choir then began to sing, 
in a nasal tone, “ I love to steal,” but having- 

pitched it too low, he began again,_“I love 

to steal;” but, having reached the opposite 
extreme, he found himself again necessitated 
to commence, “I love to steal”—when he 
was interrupted by a cough. The consider¬ 
ate minister stood up and said, “ Seeing our 
brother’s evil propensities, let us pray.” 


STOVES AND RANGES. 

Do you know who is your warmest friend ? 
It is the stove. Stoves are very diversified 
in their character and quality. Go to Con¬ 
stantinople, and a brazier filled with live 
coals, and placed in the middle of your room 
in winter, will smoke and poison you out of 
existence. In the Black Forest Mountains 
of Germany enormous stoves made of stone 
are used, which almost fill up the whole of 
your apartment, and you may be fortunate 
if there is room enough loft you to work 
your elbows. In old England the ancient 
fireplace or grate is still used. But as it 
does not heat your room, a t ou have to sit or 
stand close to the fire, which will roast you 
on one side while }’Ou get frozen on the 
other. Travel all the world over, and if you 
want real comfort in winter time you must 
go to America or send for an American 
stove. In the manufacture of stoves and 
ranges no country is the equal of the United 
States. The American stoves can be so 
regulated that while they can be made to 
blaze out like the “fiery furnace,” they can 
also be moderated to meet every degree of 
comfort and convenience. 

This line of business is one of the most 
thriving in the States, and the demand is so 
great that it is with difficulty it can be sup¬ 
plied. The following are a few among the 
prominent firms engaged in the trade,— 
Messrs. Perry & Co., Beekman Street, New 
York ; Jordon & Mott, Beekman Street, New 
York; Coulter, Long & Capanell, Chestnut 
Street, Philadelphia. 


BOOKMAKING. 

In speaking of the trade of bookmaking 
in this country, one naturally thinks of 
Benjamin Franklin. He had his bindery in 
Market Street, Philadelphia, in the year 
1729. Long before printing was invented, 
bookbinding was practised. The ancients 
sewed sheets of vellum and papyrus together 
and secured the backs with glue. The Ro¬ 
mans were quite artistic in their bookinak- 
ing. They used silver, gold, and precious 
stones for the purposes of ornamentation. 
In the days of Queen Elizabeth embroidered 
bindings were used. The names of Cheva¬ 
lier Grolier and Padeloup are known among 
the list of noble bookbinders. Roger Payne, 
in London, did much for this art. It has 
now reached a high state of perfection by 
the help of excellent machinery, which is 
chiefly of American invention. 

In the establishments of Messrs. J- D. 
Lippincott A Co., of Philadelphia, Harper A 
Brot hers, of New York, and Appleton & Co., 
of New York, the various processes ot this 
trade can be seen in all their perfection and 
completeness, and nothing is spared to turn 
out work of the finest character and finish. 
















175 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 


tn 


It is said to be the only monument that ce... 
be seen by the sailor at any distance from 
land. When we consider that many of these 
structures are the work of our h 


GREENWOOD. 

Among the resorts of beauty and interest 
that surround the cities of New York and 
Brooklyn, this one of Greenwood Cemetery 

seems almost synonymous with our ideal | and how prodigal is our 
of solemn repose and beauty. Apart from 
the “madding crowd,” where once its stilled 
inmates bustled and hurried through traffic 
and turmoil, pleasure and pain, with as 
much interest in the brief span of life as 
though it were the endless circle of eter¬ 
nity—this silent, breathless, endless slum¬ 
ber shuts out forevermore the chaotic mur¬ 
murs of our world. To the wanderer, tired 


lome artists. 


land in 


iroduciim 

O 


of life’s turbulence, the sensations upon Cemetery, beginning in 1837. 


entering this cool and verdant wilderness 
—its gleaming white shafts and monuments 
rising over each sleeper like the types of 
his purest resolves—cannot fail to be sooth¬ 
ing and peaceful. There, too, beyond this 
“silent spell of the place and the hour,” 
the many memorials suggest associations 
that, as a rule, are lacking in our various 


the marbles and granites of which they are 
composed, it is our duty to encourage this 
woik at home in preference to foreign works 
of the kind. In the immediate vicinity of 
Greenwood Cemetery tbeflb is a very exten¬ 
sive marble business carried on. Among 
the oldest may be mentioned that of Mr. 
William Pitbladdo. Mr. William Pitbladdo 
was the first stone-cutter in Greenwood 

Little Fall 


freestone was largely used at that time, and 
many of Mr. Pitbladdo’s first monumental 
achievements were of this material. The 
classic and durable tomb of John Anderson, 
which may be seen at the junction of High¬ 
land and Battle Avenues, was the work of 
Mr. William Pitbladdo, as was also the 
marble tomb of Mr. William Niblo. All who 
places of interest. Art is young with us. would really enjoy some of the finest speci- 


Castles and towers we have none whose 
stone floors are worn by the feet of heroic 
prisoners of yore. The abodes of our earliest 
heroes and heroines were too frail to last for 
ages. We have no Abbey for our feebler 
Shakespeares and Miltons; we have, instead, 
shorter-lived monuments reared to their 
memory into the dome of “ heaven’s own 


mens of this trade should call at the works 
of these gentlemen, whose interesting de¬ 
scription of the various pieces of art, as well 
as their affable deportment to visitors, ren¬ 
ders the time spent in that manner both 
profitable and pleasing. Mr. Thomas Pit¬ 
bladdo established his works there in 1853, 
and has built some of the most noted monu- 


blue.” Let us enjoy this renewal of their | ments, tombs, and enclosures, among the 
presence by yielding to the retrospections , last that of II. B. Claflin; also the monu¬ 
ment and enclosure of Oswald Ottendorfer. 
The Webster pedestal in Central Park was 
erected by Mr. Thomas Pitbladdo, for Gor- 


tliese memorials suggest. 

Greenwood Cemetery at the present day 
covers about five hundred acres of land. 
When it was established in 1838, the act of 
incorporation granted two hundred acres. 


don W. Burnham. It is the largest monu¬ 
ment in America. The base of the pedestal 


The number of interments from its com- alone weighs 31 tons, and the weight of the 
mencement to the present time has been entire pedestal 105 tons. The enclosures ol 
190 000. Of the structures of art erected Gordon W. Burnham, Royal Phelps, Sher- 


within its quiet precincts from the time of 
its establishment to the present, even men¬ 
tion of the most prominent would require 
more space than we can devote. The north¬ 
ern entrance is of itself a grand struc¬ 
ture, built of New Jersey freestone, and 
designed by R, Upjohn & Son. Many of 
these monuments would attract by virtue 
of their poetic and historic associations 
alone, were they not of themselves elaborate 
works of art. One recently finished to the 
memory of John Mathews was executed by 
Prof. Carl Mueller, and is regarded as a 


man J. Bacon, William L. Jenkins, and John 
T. Agnew, were erected by Mr. Thomas Pit¬ 
bladdo. We would also call attention to Mr. 
Jos. Sharkey’s manufactory and warorooms. 
Originally started in 1843, they have suc¬ 
cessfully kept in advance of the trade. The 
orders of Mr. Sharkey’s patrons have taken 
in nearly every cemetery and city from 
Maine to California, and no man is better 
in this branch of art. Greenwood has many 


elegant specimens 


among the latest of which 


is a very beautiful monumental statue to 
the late J udge Gerrison, of Brooklyn, made b_y 
work of inimitable design and finish. The ! Mr. Sharkey. 

Canada monument is well known to be a 1 We mention another firm of good stand- 
wonderful attraction on account of the in- ing, that ol Ouchterloon) & land), v ho 
teresting particulars connected with the ' have been engaged in business tin it toi 
death of the fair girl for whom it was twenty-seven years. The monument oi 
erected. The white, straight shaft, sur- Harry Howard, in memory of his loster- 
mounted with its spirited figure of Hope, mother, erected ncai the I iiemen s monu 

ment, is of their execution. Some very 


placed on a site overlooking the gleaming , . 

water, and called the “Pilot’s monument,” finely-executed specimens are the wor< o 
was erected to the memory of Thomas Free- Mr. John Green, in 1 went) hunt i 
born, a pilot lost oft' the New Jersey coast, j Twenty-fifth Stieets. A \ei) xauti 


JOURNAL. 

tage monument of Virginia granite, to the 
memory of Mr. George Keyes, is one of the 
most noted of this gentleman’s productions. 
It bears a very close resemblance to the 
white Italian marble. Next to that erected 
to the memory of Mr. Green’s late partner 
it) business, Mi - . John B. Denham, is a fine 
scroll monument of Quincy granite to the 
memory of the late Adam Stoddard. Sev¬ 
eral worthy of high note we find to be the 
work of Mr. John Wilson, who has carried 
on his business at Greenwood for twenty - 
nine years. One standing near the Scribner 
statuary, composed of granite, is excellent 
in design and finish ; also a grand sarcopha¬ 
gus, corner of Central and Birch Avenues, 
is a well-executed piece of work. Mr. Rob¬ 
ert F. Maekellar shows some fine pieces of 
workmanship in the monuments of Joseph 
F. Hall, the Ilarbuk, and that of Mrs. Jane 
Thomas. He has also erected a large num¬ 
ber of notable monuments in different parts 
of the United States, and the extensiveness 
of his works speaks for the prosperity of his 
business. Another fine worker in granite is 
Mr. John Shaw. His productions in Scotch 
granite are of exquisite finish, and his de¬ 
signs in most excellent taste. 

We take pleasure in mentioning other 
firms prominent in the trade, and present¬ 
ing to visitors and patrons a varied and 
interesting collection of art specimens. Mr. 
John Feltner, Twenty-fourth and Twenty- 
fifth Streets; Mr. Samuel Moran, 754 and 
756 Fifth Avenue; John L. Dalob & Bro., 
214 and 216 Twenty-fifth Street ; Mr. George 
Casper, 210 and 212 Twenty-fifth Street; 
Mr. David S. Arnott, Twenty-fourth and 
Twenty-fifth Streets; Mr. John Wade, 
Twenty-fifth Street and Fourth Avenue; Mr. 
John Van Velde, Twenty-fifth Street near 
Fourth Avenue; Mr. John Schattenkircher, 
Twenty-fourth and Twenty-fifth Streets; Mr. 
William E. Ray, Twenty-fifth Street near 
Fourth Avenue; Janson it Peterson, Twenty- 
fifth Street between Fourth and Fifth Ave¬ 
nues, and Mr. Peter G. Farrell, 1 wenty- 
fourth Street near Fifth Avenue. Also we 
would call attention to some prominent 
florists in the vicinity, who enter largely 
into this artistic and exquisite manufac¬ 
ture: Mr. I. Condon, 734 and 736 Fifth 
Avenue; Mr. Charles Krombach, 181, 183, 
and 185 Twenty-fifth Street; Mr. Thomas 
Langton, Twenty-fourth and 1 w out) -filth 
Streets, between Fourth and Fifth Avenues; 
Mr. James Weir, Jr., 230 to 238 Twenty-fifth 
Street. 

These marble-yards contain the finest 
specimens of marble in the world, and aio 
well worth a visit. The most artistic col¬ 
lection of monumental art is here displayed, 
and no lover of art can fail to feel that he 
has profited by devoting a little of bis leisure 
time in this manner. Strangers visiting the 
city, by making a call at this place of inter- 










176 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


est, cannot fail to be gratified. The above- 
mentioned firms have always on band a fine 
display ot' this work, and take pleasure in 
exhibiting it. 

The American granites mostly used in 
this business come from Massachusetts and 
Maine. The light granite comes from the 
last-mentioned State, but the most enduring, 
and that capable of the highest polish, comes 
from Quincy, Massachusetts. 


BY THE TOMB OF GARFIELD. 

The following account of a visit recently 
paid to the tomb of Garfield, taken from the 
Ocean Grove Record , is from the pen of the 
Rev. E. II. Stokes, D.D., of Ocean Grove, 
New Jersey: 

Monday was pleasant, and we arose re¬ 
freshed. The programme for the day was 
Lake View Cemetery, six miles from the 
centre of the city, a spot to which the 
eyes of the whole nation have so often tear¬ 
fully turned during the last few weeks. It 
is at the southeastern terminus of Euclid 
Avenue, one of the grandest highways in 
the land. Here rest the remains of the im¬ 
mortal Garfield. That we might leisurely 
enjoy all there was of beauty, we resolved 
to walk through that part of the avenue 
most improved, which is about half its 
length. We started at 9 a.m. For an hour 
we walked through miles of mansions fit for 
the residences of kings. The roadway of 
Euclid Avenue is not more than forty feet 
wide, but the lawns in front of these man¬ 
sions, particularly on the north side, are 
from a hundred and fifty to two hundred 
feet, so that the building lines north and 
south are three hundred feet apart, while 
the buildings themselves, of varied architec¬ 
ture, each standing separately and alone, 
with wide lawns, evergreens, and shrubbery 
between, make the scene more like our con¬ 
ceptions of Paradise than something that 
belongs to earth. Two miles or more out 
from the centre of the city, on this avenue, 
Mrs. Garfield has selected a temporary resi¬ 
dence. It is the home of Judge Burke, No. 
1106. It will not surprise the reader when 
I say it is one of the most unpretentious on 
the avenue. It is a two-story frame build¬ 
ing,—pretty, that is all. Her taste in the 
matter is, I think, generally approved. It 
would poorly comport with the fiery ordeal 
through which she and the nation have so 
recently passed for her to dash out into the 
splendor of some of these palatial homes. 
Modesty becomes us all. We looked at the 
house with sad interest, and thought how 
lonely would be her removal there. \V r e were 
now half way to the cemetery, and just hero, 
being past most of the beauty, we took the 
street cars, which at this point turn into 
Euclid from Prospect Avenue, and run quite 
up to the cemetery gates. At the entrance, 


the great archway erected for the obsequies 
still "remains. It is fifty feet high, covered 
with black. Over the head-piece, in large 
letters, are the words, “Come Home to 
Rest.” On the columns of either side, run¬ 
ning the whole length from the ground up, 
are the words, “Lay him to sleep whom 
we have learned to love.” We passed under 
this arch with sad hearts in silence. We 
felt we were on sacred ground. Lake A iew 
Cemetery contains nearly three hundred 
acres of land, and has been laid out about 
ten years. It is beautifully adapted to the 
purpose for which it is set apart. It is 
romantic in the extreme. Knolls and dells, 
and lakes and lawns, abound on every hand. 
The knolls are terraced, streams murmur 
I through the dells, the lawns abound with 
fragrant flowers and glowing shrubbery, 
while snow-white swans, flocks of geese, and 
muscovy ducks sail silent and gracefully 
over the lakes. On either hand of winding 
roadways and pleasant paths the maples 
stood in the grandeur of autumnal drapery. 
The sky was overcast, and the winds of 
November sighed among the branches. And 
yet it was not a scene of sadness, for the 
evergreens, untouched by frost, emblems of 
immortality, stood erect, and told of a better 
life. There was a sweetness in the silence, 
too, and we felt something of that rest 
which the weary hero and statesman, Gar¬ 
field, had come to enjoy. We strolled up 
the roadway, which rises gently from the 
gate, and passing over the crown of a little 
hill, curved round by a graceful path on the 
margin of -one of the lakes, where, silent 
and solemn, we saw a small detachment of 
United States soldiers pacing up and down 
in front of a private vault keeping watch. 

We approached, and looking through the 
door, which stood wide open, saw, resting 
on a platform, four feet from the earth, the 
casket which contained all that was mortal 
of James A. Garfield, the twentieth Presi¬ 
dent of the United States. With uncovered 
heads we stood and gazed in silence. Two 
ladies were inside the vault adjusting flowers, 
removing those which had faded, and replac¬ 
ing fresh ones. This is done daily by the 
order and at the expense of Mrs. Garfield. 
It was our privilege to secure some of these 
cast-off geranium leaves and flowers, which, 
though a little faded, are fragrant still. It 
will be a pleasure to keep them, as having? 
occupied a place on the casket of the hon- 
I ored dead. 

Passing over a little bridge, which crosses 
a stream connecting the upper and lower 
lakes, two hundred yards from the vault, we 
I came to a beautiful Scotch marble shaft, fif¬ 
teen or twenty feet high, bearing the name 
of Thomas Garfield, uncle of the President. 
From this spot our ascent was short and 
somewhat sharp, a hundred feet or more, to 
a small hut graceful knoll, the highest on 


the grounds. It is two hundred feet above 
Lake Erie. The view from here is beautiful 
and extended. Off yonder to the left, six 
miles away, is the city, with its spires and 
palaces. At our feet, sloping away four 
miles or more, is_a varied landscape of farm 
and forest, gorgeous with all the tints of 
autumnal glory. Beyond these—north, east, 
and west—stretch away as far as the eye 
can reach the calm, dark waters of the 
great Lake Erie. A monarch could covet 
no grander burial-place. And here, on the 
bold promontory which overlooks the city, 
the county, and this inland sea, is to be built 
the monument beneath which will repose 
the remains of him whom to-day, above all 
others, the nation honors and the nation 
mourns. James A. Garfield had an humble 
birth, but he is honored in death far above 
other men. Goodness is immortal. The 
monument committee aim to raise $200,000, 
about one-fourth of that amount being now 
secured. 


Dr. Bock, a Leipsic professor, and author 
of “Man in Health and Sickness,” declares 
that “ the nervousness and peevishness of 
our times are attributable to tea and coffee. 
The digestive organs of confirmed coffee- 
drinkers are in a state of chronic derange¬ 
ment, which reacts on the brain, producing 
fretful and lachrymose moods.” Fine ladies 
addicted to strong coffee have, he says, a 
characteristic temper which he wittily de¬ 
scribes as “ a mania for acting the persecuted 
saint.” He attributes the snappish, petulant 
humor of the Chinese to their immoderate 
fondness for tea. Chocolate is recommended 
as neutral in its psychic effects, and as really 
the most harmless of our fashionable drinks. 
It may be doubted, however, whether either 
tea or coffee, drank with moderation, is pro¬ 
ductive of injurious results. They are to be 
used, like other good things, as not abusing 
them. 

Green Flowers. —There are very few 
green flowers, particularly of a bright 
green. I know scarcely of any of them 
that are really pretty, except the daphne- 
laurel. which grows in the woods and wears 
charming green, odoriferous flowers, the cen¬ 
tre of which is occupied by stamens ot 
a fine orange yellow. It blossoms in the 
month of February. The berries ot it when 
ripe are a deep purplish black. 

The Oyster’s Ear.— The ear of the oyster 
is a most curious organ, and very fully c ' e ' 
veloped ; it consists mainly of a number ot 
diminutive grains, shut up in a transparent 
prison, and there dancing in perpetual mo¬ 
tion which changes with every sound that 
strikes upon the outer walls. The thousand 
subdued notes of the ocean, unknown to 
human ears, may be appreciated by these 
dwellers in the vasty deep. 




































PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 


JOURNAL. 


THE DONKEY’S LAMENT. 

“ Oh, when I was a little ass, 

I frisked and frolicked on the grass ; 

I’d nought to do, and nought to fear — 

But that was long ago, my dear. 

“ My master came one mournful day, 

And found me with my friends at play ; 

‘ It’s time that you should work,’ said he; 

And there was no more fun for me.” 

Now to you or me this little song would 
only have sounded exactly like the braying 
of a donkey, but a flock of geese who were 
grazing near the singer, understood donkey 
language perfectly, and crowded around him 
to listen. The melody wound up suddenly, 
and ceased as they approached. 

“Isn’t there any more?” said Mrs. Goose. 

“Well, yes,” answered the donkey; 
“there’s a great deal more, but it isn’t made 
yet.” 

“Who makes it, then ?” asked the gander. 

“Well,” answered the donkey, modestly, 
looking down at his hoofs, “ I do; it is my 
own sad experience.” 

“Really, it isn’t at all bad,” said the gan¬ 
der; “ I could detect very few faults in the 
metre; to be sure it’s a very easy metre.” 

“ I was watching these young creatures in 
the field at play,” went on the donkey, still 
looking down at his hoofs, “and the sight 
recalled the happy days of my foalhood, and 
somehow, when much moved, my thoughts 
are apt to flow into verse.” 

“ Do give us some more,” said Miss Molly 
Goosey. “ I’m sure there must be a little 
more, and it is so sweetly touching—what 
did your master do next?” 

The donkey cleared his throat several 
times, and then began again, stopping be¬ 
tween the two verses to remark that the 
rope around his nose by which he was teth¬ 
ered made it very difficult to open his mouth 
wide enough. 

“ He tied me to a heavy cart, 

And dragged my head to make me start, 

And if I strove to bite or kick, 

He banged about me with a stick. 

“ Now, ajl along the stony roads, 

I stagger under heavy loads, 

And when I stop to pant and puff, 

He cannot scold at me enough.” 

At this point Miss Molly became so visibly 
affected that she was obliged to turn away 
and hide her head for a moment under her 
wing. “The cruel, wicked man !” she mur¬ 
mured. Then, after a moment’s pause, she 
added, “Isn’t there any more?” 

“Yes, there’s a little more,” answered the 
donkey, and he began again,— 

“ My master is a heartless fiend, 

Who - ” 

And here ho stopped. “That’s all,” he 
said ; “ I cannot think of a rhyme for ‘ fiend.' 

“ Couldn’t you make a new line altogether 
there?” suggested Mrs. Goose. 

23 


177 


“ Y.cs, I might do that, certainly,” replied 
the donkey; “but,” he added, regretfully, 
“ it’s a very nice line.” 

( “ ‘ Beaned ’ might do,” put in the gander. 

/ leaned , you know—what you say of a per¬ 
son who has eaten too many beans; it’s not 
a common word, but that’s an advantage, 
and it rhymes particularly well.” 

It might do, perhaps,” said the donkey, 
rather gloomily, “ but, you see, I never was 
beaned .” 

“Who composed the music?” asked Miss 
Molly. 

The donkey bowed so low that there was 
no mistaking the authorship. 

“ I suppose those very long ears are par¬ 
ticularly good for music?” said Miss Molly. 

“M oil,” answered the donkey, “as you 
have mentioned it, I think I may say, with¬ 
out being accused of vanity, that I believe 
they are.” 

By this time the gander was becoming 
rather impatient of so many fine compli¬ 
ments. 

“Well,” he said, “you seem to have rather 
a turn for this sort of thing; it’s a pity you 
have to spend so much time drawing up 
water and fetching wood. If you had been 
able to take lessons in thorough bass, and 
study the standard poets, you really might 
have turned out something rather good. As 
it is, I wouldn’t advise you to spend much 
time on it. Come along, my dear ladies.” 
He marched off with his train, Miss Molly 
following reluctantly. Once she turned back, 
and threw a sympathizing glance at the poet, 
who was rolling on the grass, with sad eyes, 
and murmuring softly, “ ‘ Fiend!’ ‘ Fiend !’ 
if I could only think of a good rhyme for 
fiend .”—Beta Francis , in Golden Hours. 


WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH OUR DAUGHTERS? 


<< u 


The Housekeeper” says: The question 
at the head of this article is going the rounds 
of the newspapers and receiving all sorts of 
answers, according to the opinions ol the 
various writers who discuss its merits. It 
does not seem a very difficult question to 
answer. Many of us would be glad to take 
the chances of managing one, two, or three 
healthy, happy girls, and make no fuss about 
it. In the first place, don’t turn your girls 
into women before their time, by associating 
them too much with their ciders, or by giving 
them a too stimulating diet, or putting on 
long, tight dresses, which belong to the mid¬ 
dle age rather than to girlhood. When a 
girl is learning to become a member ol 
society, she will gradually step into it, as 
winter steps into spring, or as autumn into 
winter. Don’t give your girls too many ac¬ 
complishments while they aie giiD- 
them begin gradually to acquire those ac¬ 
complishments which are necessary to mag¬ 


nificent womanhood, but reserving some to 
be acquired after maturity, taking that time 
devoted to their acquirement to giving them 
a thorough knowledge of their organization 
and some knowledge of work. No matter 
how rich you are, train your girls to do use- 
tul labor, not because it is necessary for their 
maintenance, perhaps, but because it is neces¬ 
sary for their happiness. A very large pro¬ 
portion ot the joy and pleasure of life comes 
from work in its different forms. A life de¬ 
voted to pleasure soon becomes miserable; 
but pleasure mingled with useful labor adds 
much to our happiness. 

Not only should girls be taught useful 
work, but they should also be thoroughly 
educated in all of those branches which are 
useful in making life perfect : music, paint¬ 
ing, drawing, etc., and all of the accomplish¬ 
ments which are especially suitable to the 
female sex, and if a girl shows any special 
aptitude in one of these directions let her 
become proficient in it. It is not necessary, 
however, to crowd these studies at a very 
early age and before they have sufficient ma¬ 
turity of mind to appreciate them. There 
is one point of special interest connected 
with the early training of girls, and that is 
the subject of dress. They are scarcely in 
their teens before we change their short 
dresses, with shoulder-straps and buttons, 
to long skirts, supported on the hips and 
corsets, so that they are unable to take the 
necessary amount of exercise for their full > 
and complete physical development. They 
are even told that it is unladylike to romp 
and play as they do in their earlier years, — 
now they must be ladies, and not girls. This 
is a very serious error. As long as a girl is 
a girl, and so long as she is a living being, 
she needs to be so dressed that she can ex¬ 
ercise with ease and freedom on all occa¬ 
sions. This fault of early changing the 
.girl’s dress for the woman’s alters the shape 
of every limb, limits the development, atro¬ 
phying and cramping the abdominal and 
spinal muscles, as well as displacing them. 
A woman needs more than a man a perfect 
play of all the muscles of the chest and back, 
including the diaphragm and abdominal mus¬ 
cles, and this is impossible in the ordinary 
woman’s costume, no matter how it may be 
made. It is very true that uncivilized and 
ignorant people for many centuries have 
compressed the female waist. The Greeks 
did not do it, and hence we look to them for 
physical perfection of women. Now we 
have in all civilized countries specimens ot 
female perfection, perhaps equal or nearly 
so to these classical Greeks, but the number 
is comparatively small. Every female should 
possess a perfect form, and not one in ten 
thousand, as now. Another error is the use 
of the veil and glove. Both protect from 
the rays of the sun and give to the face and 
hands a color very similar to that of a potato- 


















178 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


vine growing in the cellar. The blood needs 
the effect of the sunlight acting directly on 
the skin, and the more it can he exposed to 
the air and sun the more perfect will the 
complexion he. We have at present a very 
imperfect standard of a beautiful complex¬ 
ion. A pale, white, and anaemic one is sup¬ 
posed to he more beautiful than a ruddy one. 
Could any mistake be greater? If you have 
a feeble girl, give her a good deal of out-door 
life. Give her a horse, a boat, bow and 
arrow,—any kind of an instrument that can 
he used with safety in the open air. Many 
a feeble girl has been developed into a robust 
one by learning to row, and going out upon 
the lake and river for hours at a time to in¬ 
dulge in such pleasures as her mind may 
conceive. The horse is almost as good as a 
boat. 

Let us give our daughters a scientific edu¬ 
cation. It is just as useful for them as for 
our sons. Then they would cease to read 
so many novels, which only excite that part 
of their nature already too well developed. 
The knowledge of various sciences would 
remove from woman’s life a very grave dan¬ 
ger, that of sentimentalism. Novel-reading 
develops the sentimental, the emotional sides 
of their nature. A study of the sciences 
would develop the more cool, self-reliant, 
womanly character. 

Much more might be said. We will only 
add, so far as possible fit them for those 
duties of life which are almost sure to come 
to them after they become mature. Thus 
will they become more charming as daugh¬ 
ters, more useful as women, more happy as 
mothers. 


E. CLINTON. 

Among our engravings is the portrait of 
Mr. E. Clinton, the proprietor of the largest 
brush manufactory in America, and possibly 
in the world, and a gentleman in whom are 
combined all the most excellent character¬ 
istics of our self-made men. 

Born on a farm in Massachusetts, Mr. 
Clinton removed to Philadelphia in 1838 to 
seek his fortune, and was not slow in finding 
it. Entering into the brush-making busi¬ 
ness, on a salary of one dollar a week, he 
threw his whole mind and energies into his 
work, and, soon becoming proficient in every 
detail of brush manufacture, resolved to com¬ 
mence business on his own account. 

Mr. Clinton at first labored under the dis¬ 
advantage of want of capital; but relying 
principally upon his own efforts, he produced 
a few brushes of now designs and superior 
finish, and succeeded in disposing of them 
to the dealers. At that time the brushes 
manufactured were of poor quality. They 
were made to sell rather than for use. The 
better kinds of brushes were all imported 
from abroad, and there appeared to he little 


demand for these. He determined, how¬ 
ever, to produce nothing but the finest 
quality of brushes; and by steadily persist¬ 
ing in this course, and by dint ot hard work 
and sacrifices of all kinds, lie kept his head 
above water, and succeeded in putting by a 
few hundred dollars, with which he opened 
a regular business in Second Street, Phila¬ 
delphia. As an indication of the principles 
upon which he commenced to work, it may 
be mentioned that some of the brushes at 
first made by him are now, after thirty years 
of service, almost as good as when they were 
purchased. 

The reputation for conscientious work¬ 
manship which he earned at the opening of 
his career, he has continued to enjoy to this 
day; and all the brushes required by the 
government for its numerous establishments 
are supplied chiefly by Messrs. Clinton & Co. 

At first it was found necessary to import 
the skilled laborer required for the manu¬ 
facture of the finer quality of brushes; but 
this necessity no longer exists, as the Amer¬ 
ican workman now supersedes the foreigner, 
and is able to produce superior brushes to 
the imported ones. 

The following story is related of Mr. Clin¬ 
ton and one of his workmen. When his 
business commenced to prosper, he thought 
he would indulge his family in the luxury of 
a piano. As the instrument was being con- 
vej-ed to his store on Chestnut Street, one 
of the workmen said, loud enough to be 
overheard,— 

“ There goes the sweat of our brows.” 

“No, George,” replied his employer, 
“yours goes down your throat. This is 
what mine represents.” 

It is said that the manner of the rebuke 
so touched the workman that he gave up 
drinking from that day, and has become 
well-to-do and prosperous. 

Mr. Clinton is a kind and sympathizing • 
employer, knowing how to conciliate with 
his own, the interests of the employed, and 
is much liked by his workmen. A good 
Christian, he is also an excellent husband 
and father, and a true and faithful friend. 

A PRINCE CHASTISED. 

Nearly twenty years ago, while Queen 
Victoria was staying at her summer resi¬ 
dence in Balmoral, Scotland, her son Alfred, 
twelve years old, now Duke of Edinburgh, 
strayed irom the castle and missed his way 
home. Meeting a stout boy, with a basket 
ol cockles (a kind of small shell-fish) on his 
head, he hailed him. 

The lad paid no attention to him. The 
young prince shouted again, but the sturdy 
fish-boy merely looked and walked on. Pos¬ 
sibly, he resented the rather peremptory tone 
in which he was called. 

1 he prince, for his part, was used to being 

o 


obeyed by peasant boys, and the rudeness or 
stupidity of this one made him angry, arid 
he repeated his command in a still fiercer 
| tone. 

“Here, you fellow, show me the way to 
the castle, I say !” 

“I dinna lcen’t,” said the boy, still walk¬ 
ing on. 

“ Tell me, or I’ll knock your basket off 
your head !” screamed the prince. 

“ Na, ye winna,” said the boy, coolly. 

At that, the young prince ran after him 
in a rage, and with a spiteful blow sent the 
basket tumbling to the ground, scattering 
the cockles in the dirt. 

Then there was a scuffle, and the fish-boy 
soon punished the prince so smartly that he 
was glad to break away and run. 

It happened that one of the royal attend¬ 
ants, who had been sent in search of the 
missing prince, caught a glimpse of the 
fight, and ran to the rescue. 

Of course the young peasant had com¬ 
mitted a serious offence in daring to strike 
a member of the royal family. He was 
collared and led to the castle, sobbing with 
fright, but stoutly pleading his cause. He 
1 protested that he did not know “wba the 
gentleman was,” which was undoubtedly 
true. He was simply resenting the loss of 
his fish. 

Before they reached the castle Alfred 
exhibited a generosity worthy of his high 
birth. A little reflection had showed him 
the right of the matter. 

“ I was the one to blame,” he said. “Let 
the boy go.” 

The attendant, however, had no idea of 
letting the boy go. He should give account 
to the queen, and she must say what was 
to be done with the fellow who had assaulted 
her son. 

The little Scot fairly quaked with alarm 
when he found himself shut up in an ante¬ 
room of the castle awaiting his sentence. 
Alfred, however, had been the first to seo 
the queen, and he told her the whole truth 
about the encounter, taking the fault entirely 
to himself. 

Soon one of the queen’s chaplains quietly 
entered the ante-room, and kindly asked 
the fish-boy bis name, and residence, and 
occupation, and talked to him in such a 
gentle, assuring way that his fears weie 
quite soothed. 

Then the chaplain made him tell the 
whole story of his difficulty with the young 
prince, and when this was done he smile 
and told him that the queen had said ho 
was to he taken into another room to eat a 
nice supper. 

Half an hour afterwards the same clergy¬ 
man came again, and informed the now 
delighted boy that Her Majesty regrette 
the damage done him, and had sent him 
five shillings to pay for his loss and delay. 

















179 


1 RESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 


The happy boy scampered home with his 
money, not forgetting to gather up his basket 
of cockles on the way. ITis mother, who was 
a widow and poor, was as much pleased as 
himself, hut the joy and pride of both were 
vastly increased when next day a messenger 
came from the kind-hearted queen to make 
further inquiries and offer friendly aid. The 
result was a fortune indeed to poor young 
Donald, for the royal bounty sent him to 
school, and finally apprenticed him to a 
profitable trade.— Youth's Companion. 


BANKS AND BANKERS. 

Among the many blessings to humanity 
seized upon and utilized by man as a matter 
of course is the one of hanks. What now 
would we do without them ? From the 
time man first understood the meaning of 
gain and loss,—since, at least, the establish¬ 
ment of traffic,—there have been the means 
of exchange. The money-changers of Bib¬ 
lical repute held their own until the estab¬ 
lishment of the hanks. The first in Europe 
was established at Venice in 1171, and was 
continued until the overthrow of the republic 
in 1797. The word hank means bench or 
counter, the money-changers originally hav¬ 
ing each his table in the market-place. Al¬ 
though the business of bankers and brokers 
in its direct relation to the “filthy lucre,” 
and its Jewish suggestions (for we are aware 
that formerly it was almost a trade monopoly 
with the Jews), would appear to be the dryest 
subject of consideration, except for the par- 
ties interested, still there has been, perhaps, 
no one thing which has so much encouraged 
economy and thrift as the savings-bank. 
The co-operative bank, established under the 
initiative of Schultze Delitzch, enabling work¬ 
men to combine their means for mutual finan¬ 
cial assistance in a small way, has proven in 
every way successful and popular, and merits 
every commendation. The system of nego¬ 
tiation of bills of exchange was instituted 
with the establishment of the Bank ol Bar¬ 
celona in the year 1401. The Scotch banks 
are considered safer than those of England, 
for the reason that they trade upon their 
own capital. Previous to the establishment 
of the Bank of England in 1794, banking in 
London was conducted first by the Jews, 
then by the Lombards, and later by the Gold¬ 
smiths. It will be remembered that one of 
the arbitrary and unprincipled exploits 
of Charles I., for the purpose of obtaining 
money, ended the former banking system 
and ultimately led to the establishment of 
the first real bank. Before this the bankers 
deposited their funds at the royal mint in 
the Tower of London. Charles, in his need 
of money, seized the amount deposited 
therein, and thus ruined the bankers. Our 
first American bank, called the Bank of 


North America, was established after our 
Revolution, in 1782. Its first president was 
Thomas Willing. The Bank of the United 
States was inaugurated in February, 1791, 
in I hiladelphia. It is needless to enter into 
a detailed notice of banking as it is con¬ 
ducted at the present day. Every one knows 
the grand scale of the business and its great 
benefits to the mass of the people. We have 
in the United States, it is estimated, about 
one thousand nine hundred and nineteen 
national banks. Some of our oldest and 
finest men are at their heads. It is gratify¬ 
ing to know that not only talented men, but 
good ones, hold such positions. Among our 
New York bankers, one of the most promi¬ 
nent and most highly esteemed, not only for 
his excellent abilities and good deeds, is 

GEORGE W. QUINTARD. 

Besides being director and vice-president 
of the Eleventh Ward Bank, of New 
York, and the oldest living director of the 
Bankers’ and Drovers’ Bank, he is also di¬ 
rector of the Lorillard Insurance Company, 
Manhattan Life Insurance Company, and of 
the East River Ferry Company, Penn Coal 
Company, and president of the New York 
and Charleston Steamship Company. The 
numerous responsible offices this gentleman 
holds, proves that the honorable reputation 
which he enjoys is well deserved. It is well 
for the struggling and poverty-ridden strata 
of society that those who hold commanding 
positions and accumulate wealth by the easiest 
means, have not always been rendered nar¬ 
row or sordid by their money-making. Per¬ 
haps they themselves have been among the 
stragglers at some period of their lives. The 
deep, hidden springs of charity, penetrating 
directly to the thirsting heart of the multi¬ 
tude, quicken into fruition, which tell not 
only now, but will in the grand developments 
of the future. Let all our young money¬ 
makers then remember this: forget not in 
the rush and whirl of business that not only 
should we find time for culture, but time to 
help the brother in distress. Truly the poet 
says, “ We live in deeds, not years.” 

THE BALD-HEADED MAN. 

The other day a lady, accompanied by her 
son, a very small boy, boarded a train at 
Little Rock. The woman had a care-worn 
expression hanging over her lace like a tat¬ 
tered veil, and many of the rapid questions 
asked by the boy were answered by uncon¬ 
scious sighs. 

“Ma,” said the boy, “that man’s like a 
baby, ain’t he?” pointing to a bald-headed 
man sitting just in front of them. 

“ Hush I” 

“ AVhy must I hush ? ’ 

After a few moments’ silence : “ Ma, what s 
the matter with that man’s head ! 


JOURNAL. 


“Hush, I tell you. He’s bald.” 

“ What’s bald ?” 

“ His head hasn’t got any hair on it.” 

“ Did it come off?” 

“ I guess so.” 

“ Will mine come off?” 

“Sometime, maybe.” 

“ Then I’ll be bald, Avon’t I ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Will you care?” 

“ Don’t ask so many questions.” 

After another silence, the boy exclaimed, 
“ Ma, look at that fly on that man’s head.” 

“If you don’t hush, I’ll whip you when 
we get home.” 

“Look! There’s another fly. Look at 
’em fight; look at ’em !” 

“Madam,” said the man, putting aside a 
newspaper and looking around, “ what’s the 
matter with that young hyena?” 

The woman blushed, stammered out some¬ 
thing, and attempted to smooth back the 
boj^’s hair. 

“ One fly, tAvo flies, three flies,” said the 
boy, innocently, folloAving with his eyes a 
basket of oranges carried by a newsboy. 

“ Here, you young hedgehog,” said the 
bald-headed man, “if you don’t hush, I’ll 
have the conductor put you off the train.” 

The poor woman, not knoAving Avhat else 
to do, boxed the boy’s ears, and then gave 
him an orange to keep him from crying. 

“ Ma, have I got red marks on my head?” 

“I’ll whip you again if you don’t hush.” 

“ Mister,” said the boy, after a short silence, 
“does it hurt to be bald-headed?” 

“ Youngster,” said the man, “ if you’ll keep 
quiet I’ll give you a quarter.” 

The boy promised, and the money was 
paid over. 

The man took up his paper and resumed 
his reading. 

“ This is my bald-headed money,” said the 
boy. “ When I get bald-headed I’m goin’ to 
give boys money. Mister, have all bald- 
headed men got money?” 

The annoyed man threAV down his paper, 
arose, and exclaimed, “Madam, hereafter 
when you travel, leave that young gorilla at 
home. Hitherto, I always thought that the 
old prophet was very cruel for calling the 
bears to kill the children for making sport 
of his head, but uoav I am forced to believe 
that ho did a Christian act. If your boy 
had been in the crowd, he Avould have died 
first. If I can’t find another seat on this 
train, I’ll ride on the cow-catcher rather than 
remain here.” 

“ The bald-headed man is gone,” said the 
boy ; and as the Avoman leaned back, a tired 
sigh escaped from her lips. — Little Rock 
Gazette. 


Roman artists in mosaics say that there 
are more than 30,000 different tints. 










180 


PRESIDENT JAMES 


A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


THOUGHTS ON MARRIAGE. 

Did young people seriously consider the 
important change which marriage must ne¬ 
cessarily produce in their situation, how much 
more cautious would it make them in form¬ 
ing their choice of a companion for life? 
Alas! what avails the graces of the finest 
figure, the most captivating address, the as¬ 
semblage of all that is ensnaring, if the heart 
is depraved, or the conduct imprudent. The 
gayest associate of the convivial hour may 
be the dullest, the most unfit companion for 
the domestic circle; and he who is never 
satisfied except in a crowd, or when engaged 
in a continual round of pleasure, is very un¬ 
likely to make a tender and prudent hus¬ 
band. Should sickness and distress draw 
near, depend upon it he will fly from their 
approach. If beauty alone excited his com¬ 
passion, it will cease to exist when you are 
deprived of those attractions on which it 
was founded. If fortune was his inducement, 
that will likewise soon lose its value in his 
sordid mind; and the very person who 
brought him wealth, for which he sighed, 
will be considered as the grand obstacle to 
his enjoyment. Too often is this unpleasing 
picture to be seen in many discontented fami- j 
lies, which a little serious reflection might 
have prevented being so unfortunately real¬ 
ized. Never be prevailed upon to yield your J 
heart to any one, however he may shine in 
the gay circle of the world, if you are con¬ 
vinced that he has no relish for the enjoy¬ 
ments of a retired life. The man who likes 
every house better than his own, will scarcely 
take the trouble of making home agreeable 
to others, whilst it is disgusting to himself. 
It will be the only place in which he gives 
way to his discontent and ill-humor; such 
people are forever strangers to the dear de¬ 
lights of the social state and the real com¬ 
forts of a well-regulated family. He that is 
indiscriminately at home, is never at home, 
and he feels himself a stranger or a visitor 
amidst his closest connections. 


LOVE’S DISGUISES. 

Ouu home was in New York, Esther’s and 
mine. Esther was papa’s ward. We were 
not wealthy, only “independent;” but Esther 
was very much blessed with gold and lands, 
and there was an uncommon attachment be¬ 
tween us, and she always took me with her 
when she spent the season at Washington, 
or among the mountains, or at the seaside, 
where 1 could not have gone but for her 
affectionate kindness. 

This summer Esther had declared herself 
tired and sick of crowds, and balls, and flat¬ 
tery, and proposed to go to Mrs. Thornby’s 
in the country. Fred had studied his pro¬ 
fession in New York, and was going into 


partnership with an eminent lawyer there. 
We bad seen him a great deal. His mother- 
lived in a small country villa in a town where 
she possessed much landed estate, and had 
often urged us to visit her. 

And this is the way it happened that we 
were at Thornby cottage, yawning the days 
away, with an occasional walk, or ride, or 
excursion. The glorious Fourth had been 
celebrated in the village of Belleville by a 
picnic in the grove, sweetmeats, India crack¬ 
ers, white muslins, and a famous swing, that 
closed respectably with a grand ball in the 
evening at the town hall, which bad been 
adorned for the occasion with numerous 
banners and flowers. We really enjoyed it, 
and for that evening, at least, I had enjoyed 
the society of Webster Hamilton. 

He was polished, educated, and refined, 
and though he was somewhat wanting in 
the fulsome flattery of our city courtiers, he 
possessed a dignity of mien, and an expres¬ 
sion of candid truth that made his attentions 
more pleasing than all the hackneyed com¬ 
pliments of a Saratoga ball-room. I can 
acknowledge now that I was fairly caught 
and captivated by his grace and manliness 
that night, but I did not forget the social 
bar between us, and so I neglected to ask 
him to call. Fred chided me for it, said I 
must learn my country manners, and soon 
invited him to spend the evening. I was 
needlessly frigid and impolite; refused to 
sing or play, and even pleaded a headache 
as an excuse for refusing; a game of back- 
gammon. But Esther quite atoned for my 
coldness by her sparkling cordiality. She 
made unusual efforts to be winning and 
agreeable, while the young mechanic as¬ 
sumed an air at once so easy and polite, so 
free from mauvais honte, so much upon the 
footing of equality, that it was to me abso¬ 
lutely intolerable, and I retired before he 
left. He had called twice since, and was 
obviously in love with Esther, and Esther 
with him. 

It was all well enough, perhaps, for a 
summer flirtation, but Esther never flirted. 
Would she marry him? The idea was pre- 
| posterous! I made up my mind to interest 
Fred in the matter, and devise some way to 
save her from a fearful fate. My first at¬ 
tempt was unsuccessful. 

Next evening Esther and Hamilton went 
to ride on horseback. The affair was really 
becoming serious, and when I mentioned the 
subject to Fred he was more attentive. 

It is really too bad, Fred, for us to suffer 
things to go on in this way without at least 
making an eflort to break the spell he has 
thrown around her. Of course, it is only a 
strange infatuation which she will shudder 
at when she is once more free from his 
power.” 


^ “ You may bo right, Effie 
Efhe Morse; “how blind 1 h 


”—my name is 
ave been. But 


what can we do? Esther will have her own 
way, you know, especially if she thinks any 
one wishes to oppose her. What would you 
do? Women are so shrewd in such mat¬ 
ters.” 


“I don’t know, I’m sure. How would a 
little well-directed sarcasm do?” 

“ Oh, I have it now ! Suppose you cut 
her out—make it appear as though Hamil¬ 
ton was suddenly taken with you—fickle- 
minded, you know. That would pique her 
vanity so that she would treat him accord¬ 
ingly. She can’t bear neglect.” 

“Nonsense, Fred, you know that couldn’t 
be done, as long as Esther is worth half a 
million, and beautiful as a dream, and I am 
poor, plain, and disagreeable, unless you 
could make him think I was the heiress—no, 
he is no such fellow. That wouldn’t do.” 

“ Oh, of course, I didn’t suppose you could 
really turn Hamilton’s affection from Esther 
to you, but we could manoeuvre a little to 
have you walk and ride together, and though 
I would be the real general, we could make 
it appear to be his preference. A few hints 
from me to Esther upon this sudden change 
will make it all right. That would be glori¬ 
ous. You keep quiet, and I will take charge 
of Esther. You can afford to be agreeable 
to the fellow for a while; if he really falls in 
love with you, no matter. He deserves some 
punishment for his presumption.” 

I had some misgivings about trusting my¬ 
self within the influence of his wiles, but as 
he was by no means a disagreeable com¬ 
panion, I finally consented for Esther’s sake. 

Fred and I had several secret sessions on 
the piazza, and our tactics were soon ar¬ 
ranged. An excursion was planned to visit 
Fort Knox, ten miles distant, and Hamilton 
was invited. He drove up in his own horse 
and chaise ; I wondered how he could afford 
to hire so smart a turnout, but I soon 
learned that it was his own. Fred brought 
his buggy around, and as Esther and I came 
down, he very quietly said, extending his 
hand,— 

“ Shall I have the pleasure of your com¬ 


pany, Cousin Esther?” 

She half hesitated, but instantly stepped 
forward. The idea of forcing my societ) 
upon a young man who would wish me with 
Pharaoh’s host, at the bottom of the sea, 
was excessively revolting, but Webster Ham¬ 
ilton’s gallantry equalled his nonchalance, 
for he even pressed my hand cordially, as hi 
assisted me into the vehicle, and his biow 
was as placid as the untroubled lake beneath 
the summer moon. I even enjoyed the iide 
more than I would have confessed 
If he had really suffered the pangs of mar¬ 
tyrdom at Fred’s cruel dispensation, he was 
a true stoic, for all that day he was atten 
tive, assiduous, and pleasing. 

Whenever he called afterwards, 1 re 
would manage to call Esther away toleav® 



























PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL 


me tho task of entertaining him. Some¬ 
times bis eyes would follow her as she went 
away, but nothing else indicated his dis¬ 
pleasure. I began to feel the magnetic 
power of his dark, expressive eyes, and 
feared for myself. There was often a dull, 
painful pressure about my heart, absolutely 
distressing, and one night, when we had 
been to ride on horseback, as he lifted -me 
down, his arm lingered around my waist, 
and he asked me if I would grant him a pri¬ 
vate interview in the morning; he was going 
away, and he had something to tell me that 
I must hear. 

I was terribly frightened, and stammered 
something which he took for assent. As 
soon as he was gone I sought Fred, and told 
him my fearful dilemma. 

“I cannot see him, Fred. It’s no more 
than right, since you proposed this shameful 
scheme, that you should help me out of it, 
and I want you to see him in the morning 
and tell him all. I cannot.” 

Fred showed all the consistent sympathy 
of his sex, and replied coolly,— 

“’Pon my honor, now, I don’t see what I 
have got to do with it. It would be con¬ 
foundedly awkward for me to interfere. 
Web. and I were always good friends, but 
what do you care for a dirty mechanic?” 

Alone in the silence of the night, with an 
agony of bitter tears, my proud heart bowed 
to the sceptre of love. Pride, and vanity, 
and worldliness were swept away by the 
mighty flood of passion that swept over my 
soul. Wealth, and friends, and social position 
were the merest baubles to the priceless 
treasure of his love, and as one by one I laid 
these on the altar of my new idol, a dark, 
cold shadow chilled back my dawning bliss. 
Esther, my friend, my sister; she, too, loved 
him! 

It was an hour when all good impulses 
governed my wayward heart, and I turned 
from my happiness with an iron determina¬ 
tion. For Esther’s sake he should never 
know that I had loved him. 

Pale and cold as polished marble I sat by 
the window to await his coming, and for the 
first time he seemed dear to me, dearer than 
life itself, but my sacred honor was dearer 
still. 

Fred and Esther had gone to shoot at a 
target, at the farther end of the garden; 
Mrs. Thornby was in the kitchen, and 1 was 
alone. Presently he rode into the avenue 
upon his mettlesome steed,—a finer figure 
never rode,—and my heart leaped into a 
wild tumult of pride, pleasure, and pain. 

He saw me and raised his hat, with a 
beaming smile. At that instant a pistol re¬ 
port frightened the fiery animal, and he 
reared high in the air, turned, and dashed 
homeward riderless. I never knew how I 
reached him, but I remember a still form 
lying on the grass, and I was clasping the 


JOURNAL. 


de 


ar 


in my 
against his brow 
wildest terms of 
look 


ll6ad . . :ums » 'aying my cheek 

, entreating him in the 
despair and endearment to 
up and say he was not dead. I called 
to Fred and Esther, but before they could 
reach us the dark eyes unclosed and strong 
arms encircled me. 

“ Eftie, my precious darling, do you love 

me . he asked, in low tones of the tendorest 
emotion. 

I forgot Esther, and all my vows of re¬ 
nunciation, in that fearful fright, and only 
said,— 

“ God knows I do, Mr. Hamilton.” 

He was not hurt, and was on his feet 
just as Fred and Esther arrived, but I had 
fainted. 

Returning consciousness found me reclin¬ 
ing on the sofa, with my head pillowed in 
the arms of Webster Hamilton, Esther bath- 
ing my face with cologne, Fred knocking ' 
down chairs, spilling water on the furni- j 
ture, and making himself generally useful. 

I tried to rise, but the encircling arms im- j 
prisoned me, and Fred and Esther suddenly 
lelt us alone. Then he told me he had loved 
me from the first, but I was so cold and rude 
that he could not tell me so, and he had ap¬ 
pealed to Fred, who suggested a flirtation 
with Esther as the surest way of bringing ! 

«/ o o i 

me to my senses. He did not approve of it 
at all, but they had managed it all their own 
way. 

“ And you really didn’t love Esther at all ?” ! 
I eagerly asked. 

“ I really love nobody but you, and never 
expect to,” sealing the avowal very impres¬ 
sively upon my lips. “And could you, city 
born and bred, marry a poor mechanic, 
Effie?” 

“ I think I might, if the poor mechanic 
happened to be Webster Hamilton.” 

Fred returned at this juncture, looking 
very pompous and self-satisfied, and feeling 
no doubt a sense of self-gratification similar 
to that of General Grant after the taking of 
Vicksburg. 

“ Fred Thornby,” I began, “ you perfidious, 
ambiguous, ridiculous, deceitful hypocrite! 

I will never forgive you just as long as I 
live. Never—if I live a thousand years !” 

Fred took a turn up and down the room, 
shrugged his shoulders, and asked Hamilton 
if he had told me all. 

“ I believe so—nearly,” laughing. 

“About the dirty mechanic?” 

I winced. 

“No; I left that for you.” 

“ Not all.” 

“What about Esther?” she asked, coming 
forward in all the witchery of smiles and 
coquetries, and going to Fred’s side, 
put his arms about her and said, 

“ There’s a report afloat, Miss Horton, that 
ith all your beauty, and wealth, and 
have actually thrown yourself 


181 


Esther, I’m 


^ our father must know of 
dear, it isn’t a mechanic at 


away upon a poor mechanic, 
ashamed of you. 
this.” 

“ Oh, no; Free 
all. Oh, no!” 

Mie leaned her head against his shoulder, 
and T saw it all, and my lip quivered as I 
turned to Esther and said, “ Et tu, Brute.'' 

Esther s arms were around me, and her 
evident sorrow and Webster’s sincere re¬ 
pentance of bis part in the masquerade quite 
won me back to contentment again. 

<*T> 

Lut Fred never repented. On the con- 
trary he boasts of his superior generalship 
to this day. And when he told me the next 
day that Webster’s father was the sole pro¬ 
prietor of the iron works, he made the very 
elegant and ambiguous addenda,— 

“I used to think donkeys were the most 
stupid creatures in the world—but there!” 


WHAT SHALL GIRLS DO? 

V hkn Mrs. Orr says, “Let women recon¬ 
quer their own sphere,” and implies that 
they should devote themselves to housekeep- 


in g, 


and let doctoring and other masculine 


He an 


occupations alone, I think she does not suffi¬ 
ciently consider the individual eases of the 
women who want remunerative work. Take, 
as an example, the case of a family consist¬ 
ing of a father and half a dozen daughters. 
The father is a professional man, two-thirds 
of whose income will cease at his death; the 
mother is an active woman, and at the time 
when the youngest of her daughters reaches 
the age of eighteen, still a vigorous house¬ 
keeper. Three of the daughters marry; one 
remains at home to help her mother in the 
management of the household. V hat are 
the others to do ? How does Mrs. Orr’s sug¬ 
gestion of “ reconquering their own sphere” 
help them? Their own home is orderly and 
well governed. It is true that they may 
have neighbors and acquaintances whose 
homes are quite the reverse; but it is in their 
own home, or in none at all, that this “re¬ 
conquering of their own sphere” must take 
place. They cannot say to a friend, nor 
even to an enemy, “ My dear Mrs. Jellaby, 
I am quite distressed at the disorder of your 
household; 1 will come and put your whole 
establishment on a totally different footing." 

What generally happens in real life is 
that all those three unmarried daughters 
stay home with practically no real or suffi¬ 
cient occupation; they spend their time 
making their dresses, and endeavoring, by 
snipping, and altering, and turning, always 
to be in the latest fashion, and to make the 
£30 a year or so, which they have for dress 
d pocket-money, tro as far as £35 or £40. 


you, 


wit 


u-ood taste, 


This, it appears to me, is an unhealthy and 
unnatural existence. Why should the labor 
of three fine, strong, active young women pro¬ 
duce such an insignificant result ? Further, 














182 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


they are apt to present, as time goes on, tho 
unlovely appearance of middle-aged spinsters 
aping the appearance and manners of girls 
of eighteen. They are eagerly, and perhaps 
vainly, hoping for marriage, which would 
give them a reasonable occupation, and work 
worth doing. They are not prepared, as the 
Saturday Review says, “ to judge calmly of 
an offer when it comes.” This state of 
things is surely not at all conducive to the 
realization of a high ideal of marriage. 

Let us now suppose what would have hap¬ 
pened if these two young women had had 
an ambition to find some career for them¬ 
selves more satisfactory than that of a third- 
rate dressmaker. One goes to Girton or 
Newnham, and thus, by getting a university 
training, prepares herself for the profession 
of teaching, and in a few years she may be 
earning £200, £300, or £400 a year. The 
other goes to the school of medicine for 
women; and after the proper course has 
been gone through, and the examinations 
passed, she begins practice; and if she has 
anything like a real faculty for her profes¬ 
sion, her income will very speedily outstrip 
her sisters’; and, moreover, she too will have 
found a work worthy of a rational human 
being — a work that calls out some of the 
best and noblest qualities. If either of these 
sisters marries after she is established in her 
profession, it will not be for the sake of escap¬ 
ing from the ennui of perpetual young-lady- 
hood. It will not be because in no other 
way could she find useful work to do in the 
world : the chance of the marriage being 
happy will be improved by the fact that it 
was a real choice, and not a Hobson’s choice, 
such as marriage is when other careers of 
usefulness are closed .—Nineteenth Century. 


[From “ Belgravia.”] 

CARRIED HIS OWN BUNDLE. 

In the dullest part of tho dullest county 
of England is situated the little demi-semi- 
fashionable bathing town of T-. 

Once there happened to the said little 
town a very dull season. Every town on 

the coast besides was full of company,_ 

bathers, walkers, donkey-riders, saunterers, 
and pebble-gatherers; yet the luckless town 
of T-was comparatively empty. 

In this state ol utter stagnation were af¬ 
fairs at T-when one hot day, in the mid¬ 

dle of August, a stranger was seen to enter 
that town-corporate. The stranger entered 
the town in so questionable a shape that the 

very fourth and fifth castes in T-stood 

aloof, holding themselves above him. Even 
the shop-keepers, mantua-keepers, and wait¬ 
ers at the taverns felt their noses curl up 
intuitively at him. Tho groups of loiterers, 
collected at tho doors of tho inns, passed 
contemptuous comments on him as he pur¬ 


sued his way, and the fashionables that were 
to be seen on the streets cast supercilious 
glances of careless superiority upon him, for 
he was on foot and alone, attired in a coat, 
waistcoat, and in short a whole suit, of that 
sort of mixed cloth called pepper-and-salt- 
colored, with a black silk handkerchief tied 
about his neck in a nautical style. He wore 
1 sea-boots pulled over his knees, and to com¬ 
plete the picture, carried a large bundle in a 
red silk handkerchief at the end of a stout 
oaken cudgel over his shoulder. 

“I’ll warrant me, Jack, that ’ere fist of 
his would prove a knock-me-down argu- | 
ment,” said a sailor to one of his shipmates, 
who was intently surveying the stranger. 

“Ey, ey, my lad, make yourself sure of 
that,” replied Jack, between whom and tho 
stranger a single look of recognition had 
been exchanged, en passant. 

“ He’s a rum sort of fish, howsomever,” 
rejoined the first speaker, “ and I wonder 
what wind cast him on this shore. He don’t 
look like a landsman, for all his pepper-and- 
salt gear. Mayhap you know somewhat 
about him, Jack.” 

“Mayhap I do,” replied Jack, pursing up 
his mouth with a look of importance; “ but 
I haven’t sailed so many years in the king’s 
I service without learning to keep my own 
counsel—aye, and another’s, too, on occa¬ 
sion ; and I’d advise you, Ben, my boy, to 
take another observation of his fist before 
you crack your jokes on him!” said Jack; 
and Ben having done so, wisely determined 
on keeping his distance. 

There certainly was a characteristic some¬ 
thing in the stranger, from the tie of his 
handkerchief to the slight roll in his gait, 
that savored of a seafaring life. Even his 
way of setting on his hat had not the look ; 
of a landsman. The act of sturdy indepen¬ 
dence with which he shouldered his bundle 
and trudged along showed that he considered 
the opinion of the bystanders was a matter 
of perfect indifference. Yet there was that 
about him which forcibly arrested the atten- | 
tion of every one. People who would not 
own to themselves that they thought him 
worthy of notice, nevertheless turned around 
to look at him again. 

A sovereign procured him a supper and 
bed, and all things needful for rest and re¬ 
freshment, at a small public-house, whose 
crazy little creaking sign promised to trav- 
1 ellers “Good entertainment for man and 
horse.” 

The next morning, being disencumbered of 
tho unpopular bundle at the end of that 
oaken cudgel which he still either grasped 
or flourished in a most nautical fashion, he ; 
entered the reading-room of the town. 

“It is no use putting down your name, 
sir, for you cannot bo admitted here,” was 
tho answer he received from tho suporin- I 
tendent ot this fashionable resort. 


“Not on my paying tho usual terms of 
subscription ?” asked the stranger. 

“No, sir, we cannot admit persons of your 
description on any terms, sir.” 

“ Persons of my description!” retorted the 
stranger, most emphatically, grasping his 
rusty cudgel; “and pray, sir, of what de¬ 
scription do you suppose me to be?” 

“Can’t exactly say, sir, but I’m sure none 
of our subscribers would choose to associate 
with you.” 

“ How do you know that, you saucy Jack¬ 
anapes?” said the stranger, becoming a little 
choleric. 

“ Why, sir, because, sir, we make a point 
of being very select, sir, and never, on no 
account, admit persons of your description.” 

“But it seems that you do not know of 
what description I am.” 

“ Why, sir, no one can expect to keep 
these sort of things secret.” 

“What, then, is it whispered about that I 
am ?” 

“ Whispered! Lord, sir, it was in every¬ 
body’s mouth before breakfast!” 

“And what does everybody say?” 

“ That you are a broken-down miller 
hiding from creditors.” And here he cast 
a shrewd glance on tho threadbare apparel 
of the stranger, who regarded him for a mo- 
ment with a comic expression on his features, 
made him a profound bow, and walked off. 

Not a whit humbled by this repulse, the 
stranger repaired to the place of general 
promenade and took possession of a vacant 
place at the end of one of the benches, on 
which were seated two or three of those 
important people who had for time imme¬ 
morial invested themselves with the dignity 
of the head persons of the place. 

These worthies did not allow him time to 
make their acquaintance, but with an air as 
if they dreaded infection, they rose and de¬ 
parted. Not the least discomposed by the 

distaste the great men of little T-evinced 

for his society, the stranger drew from his 
pocket a box, lighted a cigar, and smoked 
for some time with great relish. 

At length, perceiving a new set of loungers 
on the promenade, he dispatched his cigar, 
and approaching one of the other benches, 
addressed a few courteous though trifling 
observations to its occupants, three ladies 
and a gentleman ; but had his remarks been 
either of a blasphemous or indelicate natuie, 
they could not have been received with a 
greater appearance of consternation by the 
ladies, who rose alarmed at the liberty the 
man had taken, while the gentleman ob¬ 
served, with a most aristocratic demeanor, 
that he labored under a mistake in adduss 
ing those ladies. 

“Sir,” said the stranger, “you are right; 

I took you for persons ol politeness and hi 
nevolence. Discovering my error, I c,ftVe 
your pardon and retire.” 



















PRESIDENT JAMES A. G 


ARFIELD’S memorial journal. 


183 


Although any reasonable person might 
have been satisfied with these specimens of 
the inhabitants, still “the man who carried 
his own bundle” persevered in his endeavors 
to find some liberal-minded person therein. 
From the highest to the lowest, a general 
feeling of suspicion seemed to pervade the 
bosoms of all, and the luckless stranger re¬ 
sided in the town a whole week without 
finding a single exception. 

The habitual good temper and light-hearted 
gayety of the stranger was ruffled; and there 
was a compression on his brow, and an angry 
glow on his cheek, as he entered that noto¬ 
rious gossip-shop, the post-office. The mail 
had just arrived, and the letters having been 
sorted, were delivered to their respective 
claimants. But there was one letter that 
had not been claimed, which excited general 
curiosity. 

According to invariable diurnal custom, 
all the town people who had nothing to do 
were assembled in or near the post-office,— 
those who expected letters to receive them, 
and those who did not, to take note of the 
epistles directed to their neighbors. 

The unclaimed letter was of a tempting 
appearance, surmounted with a coronet, ad¬ 
dressed to the Right ITon. Admiral Lord 

A-B-, and franked by the Duke of 

A-. Many were the surmises offered on 

the subject. Could it be possible that a man 
of his high rank meant to honor them with 
his presence for the season ? But then he 
had not engaged lodgings. Ho matter, there 

are plenty disengaged. Lord A-B- 

would doubtless arrive that day with his 
suite. It would be the salvation of the town 
for the season to be able to announce such 
an arrival in the county papers. The presence 
of my lord was a prognostic of a visit from 
the duke arid the mighty duchess. 

During the discussion, in which by this 
time the whole town rvas engaged, there 
were some Avhose curiosity to know the con¬ 
tents of this important epistle was so great 
as to betray them into the endeavor ot tore- 

stalling Lord A-B-in reading all that 

was come-at-able in his letter; but the en¬ 
velope Avas folded so as to baffle the most 
expert in the worthy art of round-readings. 

The stranger (who had remained an un- 
noticed listener in the crowd, and had quietly 
seen the letter pass from hand to hand 
through a large circle), iioav stepped into 
their midst, and making a low bow, re¬ 
marked,— 

“ Gentlemen, when you have amused your¬ 
selves sufficiently with that letter, I will 
thank you to hand it over to me, its rightful 
owner.” 

“ To you !” exclaimed the whole town and 
corporation in a single breath, “this lettei, 
which is franked and sealed by the Duke ot 

A-, and addressed to Admiral Lord A- * 

B-?” 


Iam the gentleman,” said the stranger 
making a sarcastic obeisance all around *“ I 
see that you do not think that the son of a 
duke can wear such a coat, and carry his 
own bundle on occasion. However, I see 
one within hail who can witness to my 
identity. Here, you Jack Braceyard, have 
you forgotten your old commander?” 

“ Forgotten your honor! No, no, my lord,” 
exclaimed Jack, springing into the midst of 
the circle. “ I knew your noble lordship the 
moment I seen you; but I remember your 
honor’s humor too well to spoil your sport 
by saluting, Avhen you thought fit to hoist 
foreign colors.” 

Jack, } T ou are an honest fellow, and here’s 
a sovereign to drink my health, for Ave have 
weathered many a hard gale together; and 
here’s another for keeping my secret, old 
heart of oak. And iioav, gentlemen,” con¬ 
tinued Lord A-B-, “ if you are not yet 

satisfied that the letter belongs to me, here 
are, I trust, sufficient proofs.” As he spoke 
he produced from his pocket-book a bundle 
of letters, bearing the same superscription. 

The postmaster immediately handed him 
the letter, and began a string of elaborate 
apologies, which his lordship did not stay to 
listen to, but walked back to the Golden 
Lion, leaving the assembled population of 
T-mute with consternation. 

That afternoon the Avhole corporation, 
sensible too late of their error, waited in a 

body on Lord A-B-to apologize for 

their mistake, and to entreat him to honor 
the town Avith his presence during the re¬ 
mainder of the season. 

He was busily employed in tying up his 
bundle Avhen the deputation entered, and he 
continued to adjust it all the time they were 
speaking. When they concluded, having 
tightened the last knot, he replied as fol- 
lows,— 

“ Gentlemen, I entered your town with 
?ery intention of thinking well of its in- 
But I came in a shabby coat ; 
y own bundle, and took up my 
quarters at a paltry ale-house, the only place 
where you would give me admittance. Your 
reception of me would have been very differ¬ 
ent had 1 arrived in my carriage. But, gen¬ 
tlemen, I am an odd fellow, as you see, and 
sometimes try Avhether I can obtain it with¬ 
out these adventitious distinctions; and the 
manner in which you have treated me while 
I appeared among you in the light of a poor 
and inoffensive stranger, has convinced me 
of my error in looking for liberality here. 
And i must inform you that I estimate your 
polite attention at the same value that I did 
your contempt, and that I would not spend 
another night in your town if you would 
o-ive it to mo; and so good-morning. 

\s his lordship concluded, he attached his 
re d bundle to the end of his bludgeon, and 
shouldering it, with a droll look at the d,s- 


ever) 
habitants, 
carrying mj 


eomfited corporation, he trudged out of the 
town with the same air of sturdy independ¬ 
ence that he trudged in. 

THE CHURCH’S SCAPEGOAT. 

Onk bright morning in January, Deacon 
S., oi Hilltown, rode to Plainville and called 
°n Deacon '1. Deacon T. was A T ery cordial,— 
expressed himself as glad to see him, and 
soon asked him what the good word was from 
Hilltown. 

“ Well,” said Deacon S., “ the fact is, we 
are in a snarl, and I do not know Avhat will 
come of it. Some of our people think that 
Ave had better ask our minister to resign, and 
some are dead set against it. So there AAe 
are; for my part, I think that he had better 
go before many months, and I told him so 
this morning.” 

“But I thought that you all liked him,” 

( said Deacon T. 

“So aa'c do all like the man.” said Deacon 

S. , “ and every one says that he is a good 
I preacher.” 

“ Then AA’hat is the matter?” said Deacon 

T. 

“Well,” said Deacon S., after the drawing 
of a long breath, “ our church members don’t 
attend the prayer-meeting as they ought to ; 
j our prayer-meetings are small, and there are 
so few to take part that we are sometimes 
I discouraged.” 

“ But what has your good minister done ?” 
said Deacon T. 

“ You have seen our organist,” said Deacon 
S.; “ and if you AA T ill believe me, on the Sunday 
; before the last, she began to play the response 
after prayer, just before the minister had 
pronounced the amen. I Avas dreadfully 
shocked, and although I suav and heard her 
apologize to Mr. Smith for it, I cannot feel 
as though she AA’cre excusable for letting her 
thoughts so wander during prayer as to 
commit such an offence against propriety. 
You certainly cannot approve of her conduct. 
Just think of it.” 

“But AA’hat has the minister done?” said 
DeaconS. “Did he refuse to forgive her?” 

“ Oh, dear, no, sir!” said Deacon S. “ He 
is as forgiving as you could wish. But our 
| young people, and our old people, too, do 
! not attend church as they did in my young 
days. Fifty years ago it Avas hardly con¬ 
sidered respectable for a man to go to no 
I place of worship. I am told that this is so 
I evei’A’Avhere. This habit of staying away 
! from church entirely is a fearful one, espe¬ 
cially for the young. What are avc coming 
to, if our young men and women keep them¬ 
selves aloof from all the means of grace?” 

“ But,” said Deacon T., “ you don’t tell 
me what your minister has done to trouble 
you.” 

“ Well ” said Deacon S., “ the unregenerate 
and the outsiders all like him. There isSquire 






























184 


PRESIDENT JAMES 


A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


Wilson, you know him. lie goes to church 
pretty regularly, and contributes something 
towards the minister’s salary, but he has no 
more religion than my horse, lie said that 
our minister was the best man we had ever 
had in our church. Now I think that we have 
had others just as good; indeed, 1 have never 
gotten over it because our last minister was 
dismissed.” 

“But,” said Deacon T., “you don’t answer 
my question, What has the minister done?” 

Then went on Deacon S., “ The Universal- 
ists have recently begun to have meetings in 
our village. They have hired a minister and 
a hall for a year. They have not had meet¬ 
ings for six years, except occasionally, until 
about six months ago, when there was some 
religious interest in our midst; and since 
then they have bad meetings by themselves. 
This takes away some whom we hoped might 
be drawn into our church, and we have a 
heavy debt; some of our best supporters have 
died, and our house don’t fill up. We have 
nothing against our minister, but here we 
are.” 

“I should think,” said Deacon T., “that a 
man of such wisdom and good judgment as 
I have always supposed your good pastor, 
Mr. Smith, to be, would have known better 
than to allow a revival in his church. Why 
could he not have kept things along quietly? 
lie might have known that after such a 
season of interest the church would be 
deader than ever, and would probably wish 
to get rid of him.” 

“ Brother T., I am surprised !—surprised 
and grieved !” said Deacon S. “ I have often 
heard you pray for a revival. W r hat would 
become of our churches without them ? 
What has changed your mind? You trouble 
me! But I am sure that you are jesting. 
We need revivals—we need one more in our 
church. The truth is, we are all dead, and 
we need some one to stir us up; and we 
thought that perhaps a change of pastors 
might give us a little stir.” 

“ I see,” said Deacon T., “ I see that you 
are in trouble. Y r ou want some one to take 
you poor, sleepy, dull Christians by the hair 
of the head, and give you a good, thorough 
shaking. Much joy to the man who does it. 
You think, I presume, that you will be 
grateful for the operation. But, my brother, 
this is too serious a subject for jesting. 1 
fear that you have sinned a great sin. In 
all that you have said, you have not uttered 
a word derogatory to .Mr. Smith’s character, 
ministerial or personal, and I have yet to 
hear the first word against him. You have 
picked up the faults of your church and 
society, and are trying to make your good 
minister the scapegoat to bear them all. 1 
cannot but think that had your church spent 
as much time in praying for a blessing on 
the word preached, and in earnest, personal 
effort for the salvation of sinners, as you 


have spent in trying to bring about a change 
in the pastorate, you would all be happier 
and better. I do believe that if you had 
been trying to hold up the hands of your 
pastor, instead of trying to undermine his 
position, God Himself would have conde¬ 
scended to arouse you from your dulness. 
You know, just as well as I do, that a minis¬ 
ter cannot work alone. He must have the 
help of a live church in order to accomplish 
much for the Master.” 

“Well,” said Deacon S., “you remember 
the passage ‘ like priests, like people.’ ” 

“No,” said Deacon T., “I don’t remember 
any such passage. Here is a Bible, let us 
find it if it is here. Ilosea iv. 9 reads thus: 
‘And there shall be, like people, like priest!’ 
It is often quoted wrong, as you just now 
did. Our churches are many of them in a 
sad condition, and this frequent change of 
pastors is a very unfortunate thing for the 
churches; but the saddest and the meanest 
thing about it is the effort to make the 
minister responsible for all the troubles in 
the parish. Your minister'is a Christian 
gentleman, and I should like to see him 
treated as such a man should be; but I re¬ 
member the words, ‘ The disciple is not above 
his master, nor the servant above his Lord. 
If they have persecuted me, they will also 
persecute you.’ But I am sorry to see 
Christian ministers persecuted by those who 
call themselves Christians. I remember that 
I once heard you pray at our county con¬ 
ference that some of our children might be¬ 
come ministers of Christ. My dear brother, 
when I hear that prayer, I always pray for 
grace to be willing that either of my boys 
should become a minister, and I trust that 1 
shall have it. But I cannot forget how soon 
the ‘ hosannas’ of the multitude were changed 
to ‘crucify Him’ in the life of our Lord.”— 
Vermont Chronicle. 


BENJAMIN B. SHERMAN. 

Tennyson, in his expression of passion, 
pathos, and fancy, has written many grand 
sentiments; but the muse never led him into 
a tenderer mood than that which prompted 
the true and noble one on “kind hearts.” 
Every good heart is welcomed as an addi¬ 
tional counterweight to balance the miseries 
of life. Every good deed savors the ocean 
of life as the grains of salt do the sea, and 
though individually lost, yet influences the 
whole. 1 his is the reward of the benevo¬ 
lent, or, rather (for they ask no reward), 
| the satisfaction the kind effort brings—this 
knowledge that the influence may be broad, 
though the deed be trifling. Every cxcep- 
tionnbly charitable person is known and 
commented upon by his fellow-men; but 
laiely is it, after all, that the sensitive per¬ 
son is conscious of the merit he receives. He 
even fears he is not as generous as he should 


be, and apt to imagine his brothers yield him 
no grace in that direction. A wealthy man, 
perhaps, having earned his wealth by hard 
struggle and scruple, is often willing and 
ready, through thoughtfulness and constant 
effort, to aid the less fortunate to position 
and comforts necessary to existence. 

Few countries present the enterprising 
men that our land has produced; few the 
active minds that our aged men possess, and, 
we would add, active hearts. When they 
are gone from us we herald our appreciation 
of their virtues; while they are with us in 
the body as well as the spirit, we hesitate to 
show our regard for them ; and yet it would 
seem that we might all be the better for a 
greater intercommunication of a little hearty 
sympathy and appreciation. Some of our 
New York millionaires are thorough phil¬ 
anthropists at heart. They may be dissatis¬ 
fied with their own way of doing good, and 
know well that the “ times are out of joint,” 
yet, taking them as they are, with pains¬ 
taking and consideration. One of the most 
prominent and active philanthropists of our 
city is the president of one of our oldest 
banks. We refer to Mr. Benjamin B. Sher¬ 
man, known by all bankers in the United 
States, and acknowledged to be one of the 
first and wealthiest business men in the 
country. There is scarcely any enterprise 
for the advancement of art or science, that 
does not record him as an active leader; 
scarcely any charitable institution that does 
not rank him as a powerful reinforcement. 
During our Centennial war none showed a 
more patriotic or vigorous spirit; none at 
the Centennial Exhibit was more useful. 
These important theatres of action alone 
call for hearty industry, setting aside the 
many private calls upon one known to be a 
helper of humanity. It is the “good heart” 
which attracts more powerfully than the 
magnet. All honor to our true and noble 
friend, Benjamin B. Sherman! It is the 
earnest wish of all that many years of hap¬ 
piness and health arc yet in store for this 
truly good man. And this wish should be 
echoed by the many recipients of the good 
deeds performed by this “friend in need,’ 
and responded to by thousands the world 
over, who have enjoyed like benefits from 
his bounty. Then let us strive to add one 
more coronet of good deeds that shineth 
with a broad and pure light over the path¬ 
way leading to the Kingdom of Heaven. 


The Horse-Chestnut Leaf.—T he horse- 
chestnut leaf is a single example of the 
whole of the laws found in nature—its form 
is perfect grace. The proportional distribu¬ 
tion of its areas is perfect, also the radia¬ 
tion from the parent stem, the tangential 
curvatures of its lines, and the even distn- 
bution of its surface decorations. 

















PRESIDEN 

THE BACHELOR'S CLUB; OR,THE REASON WHY 
SOME MEN DON’T MARRY. 

BY MRS. L. D. SHEARS. 

Jerry Watt was a bachelor, fifty years old, 

Who knew how to take care of himself and 
his gold, 

At least so the crusty old Benedict said, 

When asked by the world why lie never had 
wed. 

Lucy Lark might turn on him her bright 
hazel eyes, 

And meek, graceful Lily heave heart-rending 
sighs; 

For their smiles or their frowns what cared 
he, Jerry Watt? 

To give up his freedom and gold he would 
not. 

And so at a distance sly Cupid was kept, 

While all by himself Jerry ate, drank, and 
slept. 

And sleeping he saw in his dreams—or per¬ 
haps 

’Twas a half-waking vision between his short 
naps, 

For Jerry, like others in goocT circumstances, 

Beside his good cheer sometimes fed on his 
fancies— 

Years of hardship and toil in his dreams he 
lived o’er 

Ere the freaky maid Fortune threw open 
her door. 

lie had worked for her, prayed for her, smil¬ 
ing she came, 

And gave to our hero position and name. 

A target for sharpers, a “ catch” for the 
fair, 

Was this new prince of brokers, this great 
millionaire! 

At least so he thought himself when he with¬ 
drew 

To his four-story mansion on Flash Avenue. 

Rich “ Gobelin” tapestry covers his floors, 

Ilis coffee and tea from rare “ Sevres” he 
pours, 

YVhile cut-glass decanters and goblets of 
gold 

Old wines for the cynical bachelor hold. 

From the late morning breakfast till dinner 
at night 

He drank what he pleased, ’twas the bach¬ 
elor’s right. 

But alas for our Lives! the life that he led 

Brought its penalties with it, a suffering bed. 

And while in his chamber confined by the 
gout, 

The cook in the basement gave supper and 
rout. 

Her master drank liquor, and why should 
not she ? 

Ilis vault held the choicest, and she kept the 
key. 

For cooking, of course, the best cognac 
brandy 

Was all she found use for: the bottle stood 
handy 
24 


T JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 


JOURNAL. 


185 


they one or a 


for her Pat and her Peter; e’en to the third 
cousin 

Each and all had a tip—came 
dozen. 

’Twas in vain that the invalid threatened 
and raged, 

The servants well knew that the lion was 
caged. 

ILs anger they laughed at, his threats they 
defied, 

And high life below stairs went on at full 
tide. 

’Twas at one of these balls that poor Jerry 
in bed, 

With the gout in his toe and the wine in his 
head, 

Was aroused by a scream that set his nerves 
shaking— 

Fire, murder, and blazes! the noise they 
were making. 

He tried to get up, but his head was too 
light 

To hold e’en his own in their jolty free 
fight; 

And for the first time in his bachelor life 
He seriously ponders on taking a wife, 

But a new question rises, which one of the 
fair 

Will be the best choice for the great million¬ 
aire ? 

There’s dashing Miss Lucy—she’s Lucy 
Lark still— 

With a snug little fortune; but then she’s a 
will 

That might not be pleasant, if she should 
forget 

That her husband was lord, and authority 
set 

Against his. Then there’s Lily, so gentle 
and mild, 

A plain, unassuming, and sensitive child, 

As fair as her namesake, as graceful, I ween, 
As any young miss you will find at sixteen. 
And soon he decided this opening flower 
Should be the choice plant ot his bachelor 
bower. 

But firmly the maiden the offer declined; 
The honor intended was not to her mind. 

It was with a feeling not quite as exalted 
That at Lucy Lark’s door the old bachelor 
halted. 

His courage had ebbed to a very low tide 
Ere his lips framed the question, “Will you 
be my bride ?” 

Miss Lucy arose, and she faced the old man 
With an eye that, he felt, every '™nkle 
would scan. 

•• My good sir, if in earnest you’re hunt.ng a 

A ridiculous venture at your time of life- 
I’ve a word of advice: Leave m.sees. alone 
And soek one whose ago hotloi sui » 

Time was’but—’tis past-Jerry Watt, you 

T have aims S above nursing a gouty old toe.” 


With a growl the aged toper walked out of 
the door; 

He made his next call, in a carriage and 

1 O 

four, 

On a neat little milliner, pretty but shy, 

A\ ho lived by her trade in a side street near 

b y- 

iShe looked with surprise when his errand 
he told, 

lor hearts such as hers are not bartered for 
gold; 

Then knowingly shaking her wise little 
head, 

This neat, pretty milliner modestly said, 

“ It were wrong, sir, for wealth and position 
to wed. 

Excuse me, good sir, if my language is 
plain, 

Too oft you are mastered by wine and 
champagne. 

Though society winks at your dissolute life, 

Not for all your possessions would I be your 
wife.” 

How he made his adieus it were wrong to 
repeat, 

As he frantically rushed from her door to 
the street, 

And in his fine coach and gilt trappings was 
whirled 

To his grand palace home, out of sorts with 
the world. 

But “ misery likes company”—old as ’tis 
trite— 

Jerry dined with his bachelor brethren that 
night, 

And told them fine stories of traps and 
snares set 

By pretty young misses rich husbands to get. 

The wine Jerry drank that night went to 
his brain,. 

No doubt could there be of his being 
insane— 

Yet how it all happened no one could 
explain. 

First, a noisy dispute at the table occurred, 

And next, the report of a pistol was beard, 

Then uproar and clamor! Police interfered. 

In the papers ’twas quoted “an accident 
slight.” 

Had the plain truth been told, ’twas a des¬ 
perate fight— 

The Angel of Death summoned Jerry that 
night. 

MORAL. 

Oh, poor wifeless beings! take warning, I 

pray, 

And do not, like Jerry, “drink deep’ by 
the way. 

If refused by some fair one, don't talk of 
escapes, 

We’ve all heard the tale of “the fox and 
the grapes.” 

The angel who guards will unravel the 
mystery, 

And on * tablets of truth write out the 
heart’s history. 














18G 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 


A BOLD DEFENCE. 

In the olden time Indians did not, as they 
sometimes do not now, take kindly to im¬ 
migrants who settled upon their hunting- 
grounds. Like the Anglo-Saxon, they loved 
broad acres, revered “ vested rights,” and 
defended both against the encroachments of 
white men who held to 

“ The good old rule and simple plan, 

That he should take who has the power, 
And he should keep who can.” 

The relation between the two was not 
such as ought to exist between landlord and 
tenant. The Indian looked upon the settler 
as a “ squatter,” whom it was right to eject, 
not only from the land, but from the earth. 
The bold “ tenant at will” had to be con¬ 
stantly on his guard; for a summary “notice 
of ejectment” might be served at any moment 
by a posse of painted savages. 

About the first thing done by a band of 
immigrants locating in an Indian country 
was to build a fort or block-house. Then, 
within a mile or less of this refuge, they 
scattered their log huts. One of these old 
forts now remains, though in a ruined con¬ 
dition, and associated with it is a romantic 
story of frontier life. 

In those Indian days to which the story 
refers, the fort was a substantial building, 
with brick sides in a wooden casing. It 
would have been taken for the large dwell¬ 
ing-house of a prosperous settler, but for the 
many loopholes cut in each side. 

The family who lived in it, several men 
and one woman, kept it always prepared to 
receive “ company;” for no one could tell 
when the Indians might call. 

One bright morning, when not a cloud was 
to be seen, the men left early to work in the 
fields, leaving Betty, the woman, to attend 
to the fort. For several hours nothing dis¬ 
turbed the monotony of her work, save her 
own singing of cheerful thoughts as she 
went to and fro on her household duties. 

When scrubbing and washing of dishes 
had emptied the water-pail, she went to the 
well to fill it. Looking down the road, she 
saw afar off a dark object moving towards 
the settlement. Thinking it the loaded team 
of some farmer, she went back to the fort, 
and resumed her work and singing. 

In the course of a few minutes, moved by 
a natural impulse, she poked her head out of 
the door to see how far the team had pro¬ 
gressed. To her horror, she saw a hand of 
Indians, only a short distance off, making 

7 O 

straight for the fort. 

Not a white man was in sight, for every 
one, together with the women and children 
of the settlement, had been lured by the 
beautiful day into the fields. 

In an instant she took in the situation. If 
she attempted flight, she would be captured 
before she could run a hundred rods. To be 


captured was death—the surrender of the 
fort. She would stay in the fort, and alone 
fight the savages until the men, alarmed by 
the firing of guns, came to her aid. 

With a bang the oaken door swung shut, 
and down went the heavy wooden bar. Go¬ 
ing from loophole to loophole, she placed a 
loaded musket by each one. 

The terrible war-whoop startled her for a 
moment. Then her voice rang out, loud 
and clear, “ Here, Jim, George, Henry, John, 
Bill! Don’t you hear? Bill, stand by that 
hole ! Jim, you take that gun !” 

Two guns were fired, and then the voice 
called out, “George, shoot that big Injun! 
Henry, aim for the chief!” Two more bul¬ 
lets went whizzing among the Indians. 

They were taken aback. They had sup¬ 
posed the fort deserted, save by the woman. 
But it was full of men. Another shout, an¬ 
other bullet, and this time it hit one of them. 
They hesitated to advance. Bullet after 
bullet whizzed, and two more men were 
wounded. 

Then they turned and fled, and when the 
men came running to the fort the brave wo¬ 
man bad scarcely strength to unbar the 
door. 

A long time after this brave defence, a 
farmer, living near the fort, started one 
morning to mow. As was usual in those 
days, he carried his musket with him. He 
had a special reason for being on his guard, 
for a certain Indian had become his personal 
enemy. 

On arriving at the hay-field, he leaned his 
gun against a tree, threw off his coat, sharp¬ 
ened his scythe, and began mowing. 

As, swinging his scythe, he drew near the 
lower end of the field, he saw an Indian 
crouching behind a row of bushes. The 
farmer was a cool man, and swung his scythe 
as steadily as if he had seen nothing. 

Looking again, he saw that the Indian 
was his enemy. In one hand he held a 
tomahawk, while a scalping-knife was stuck 
in his belt. The farmer knew that if he at¬ 
tempted to run for his gun, the swift-footed 
Indian would be upon him before he had 
gone a hundred feet. Self-possession was 
his protection. 


turned, swinging his scythe as if anxiou 
reach the end of his swath. 

Waiting until the mower had depa 
two or th-tee rods from the bushes, the In< 
moved noiselessly through the bushes 
crept after the farmer. 

But with every swing of the scythe 
farmer, glancing cautiously over ' his 
shoulder, had taken in the position of 
catlike enemy. 

Nearer crept the stealthy savage, 
step more, and he would be upon the mo 
Raising his tomahawk, he braced himsel: 
t ie spring, and—fell on the ground, dea 


JOURNAL. 


The farmer, with all his strength, had 
swung his scythe, with its point inclined up 
completely around. It wounded the Indian 
so that he fell dead.— Youth's Companion. 


SATURDAY AFTERNOON. 

BY N. P. WILLIS. 

I love to look on a scene like this, 

Of wild and careless play, 

And persuade myself that I am not old, 
And my locks are not yet gray; 

For it stirs the blood in an old man’s heart, 
And makes his pulses fly, 

To catch the thrill of a happy voice, 

And the light of a pleasant eye. 

I have walked the world for fourscore years, 
And they say that I am old, 

That my heart is ripe for the reaper, Death, 
And my years well-nigh told. 

It is very true, it is very true, 

I’m old, and I “ bide my time;” 

But my heart will leap at a scene like this, 
And I half renew my prime. 

Play on, play on, I am with you there 
In the midst of your merry ring; 

I can feel the thrill of the daring jump, 

And the rush of the breathless swing. 

I hide with you in the fragrant hay, 

And I whoop the smother’d call, 

And my feet slip upon the suddy floor, 

And I care not for the fall. 

I am willing to die when my time shall come, 
And I shall be glad to go; 

For the world at best is a weary place, 

And my pulse is getting low; 

But the grave is dark, and the heart will 
fail 

In treading its gloomy way; 

And it wiles my heart from its dreariness, 
To see the young so gay. 


The Ice Flower. —When water crystal¬ 
lizes into ice it forms stars, each star resem¬ 
bling a flower of six petals. As the leaves 
of the flowers enlarge the edges become 
serrated, but do not deviate from the six- 
rayed type. This is the exquisite atomic 
structure of the ice that roofs our ponds 
and lakes every winter. 

Snow Crystals. —There are no less than 
one thousand different kinds of snow crys¬ 
tals. The patterns are of wonderful beaut}* 
They arc formed for the most pact °* 
minute colored crystals, some red, some 
green, others blue or purple. All the colois 
of the rainbow are seen in the delicate tiac- 
ery of these hexagonal stars. The perfect 
whiteness of the driven snow illustrates the 
fact that the colors of the rainbow combine 
to form the purest white.— Proctor. 

















































































































PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD'S MEMORIAL 


INSURANCE COMPANIES. 

PROMINENT EIRE INSURANCE COMPANIES OP 
THE UNITED STATES, THEIR PRESIDENTS 
and secretaries, and date op 

ORGANIZATION. 

Knickerbocker Insurance Company, 64 
Wall Street, 1787. Peter Y. King, Presi¬ 
dent ; Edmund W. Albro, Secretary. 

Eagle Insurance Company, 71 Wall Street, 
1806. A. J. Clinton, President; T. J. Gaines, 
Secretary. 

North Eiver Insurance Company, 202 
Greenwich Street, 1822. Peter K. Warner 
President; Albert Bogert, Jr., Secretary. 

New York Equitable Insurance Company, 
58 Wall Street, 1823. Pochard J. Thorne, 
President; John Miller, Secretary. 

Jefferson Insurance Company, 111 Broad¬ 
way, 1824. Samuel E. Belcher, President; 
William B. Flowery, Secretary. 

Brooklyn Insurance Company, 32 Court 
Street, Brooklyn, 1824. Tunis C. Bergen, 
President; George K. Brand, Secretary. 

United States Insurance Company, 115 
Broadway, 1824. Abraham S. Underhill, 
President; W. W. Underhill, Secretary. 

Firemen’s Insurance Company, 153 Broad¬ 
way, 1825. John F. Halsted, President; P. 
II. Oakley, Secretary. 

Howard Insurance Company, 66 Wall 
Street, 1825. Henry A. Oakley, President; 
Charles A. Hull, Secretary. 

New York Insurance Company, 72 Wall 
Street, 1832. Daniel Underhill, President; 
Augustus Colson, Secretary. 

New York and Bowery Insurance Com¬ 
pany, 124 Bowery, 1833. John A. Delaney, 
Jr., President; Henry Griffen, Secretary. 

Long Island Insurance Company, 203 
Montague Street, Brooklyn, 1833. William 

L. Cortelyon, President; Henry Blatchford, 
Secretary. 

City Insurance Company, 111 Broadway, 
1833. Samuel Townsend, President; D. J. 
Blanvelt, Secretary. 

Greenwich Insurance Company, 161 Broad¬ 
way, 1834. Samuel C. Harriot, President; 

M. A. Stone, Secretary. 

Citizens’ Insurance Company, 156 Broad¬ 
way, 1836. James McLean, President; Ed. 
A. Walton, Secretary. 

Westchester Insurance Company, 141 
Broadway, 1837. George It. Crawford, 
President; John Q. Underhill, Secretary. 

National Insurance Company, 52 Wall 
Street, 1838. Henry T. Drowne, President; 
Henry H. Hall, Secretary. 

Broadway Insurance Company, 158 Broad¬ 
way, 1849. Hiram M. Forrester, President; 
John Wray, Secretary. 

Merchants’ Insurance Company, 1850. C. 
Y. B. Ostrander, President; J. L. Douglass, 
Secretary. 

Clinton Insurance Company, 1850. George 
T. Patterson, Jr., President; C. E. W. Cham¬ 
bers, Secretary. 


JOURNAL. 


Commercial Insurance Company, 1850 

U Quackenbush, President; Walter 
Lawrence, Secretary. 

Glens FidU Insurance Company, 1850. 
Russel M. Little, President; John L. Cun- 
ningham, Secretary. 

^ A iagara Insurance Company, 1850. Peter 
Notman, President; Thomas F. Goodrich 
Secretary. 

^ Pacific Insurance Company, 1851. Thomas 
I. Jeremiah, President; William A. Butler, 
Secretary. 

People’s Insurance Company, 1851. F. Y. 
Pi ice, President; A. C. Milne, Secretary. 

Hanover Insurance Company, 181 Broad¬ 
way, 1852. Benjamin S. Walcott, President ; 
L Remsen Lane, Secretary. 

LIST OP THE CHIEF LIFE INSURANCE' COM¬ 
PANIES IN THE UNITED STATES, WITH THE 
NAMES OF THEIR PRESIDENTS. 

V 

Brooklyn Life Insurance Company, 322 
Broadway, New York City. William M. 
Cole, President. 

Equitable Life Assurance Society, 120 
Broadway, New York City. Henry B. 
Hyde, President. 

Germania Life Insurance Company, 287 
Broadway, New York City. Hugo Wesen- 
donck, President. 

Home Life Insurance Company, 179 Mon¬ 
tague Street, Brooklyn, N. Y. George C. 
Ripley, President. 

Homoeopathic Mutual Life Insurance 
Company, 257 Broadway, New York City. 
Edwin M. Kellogg, President. 

Manhattan Life Insurance Company, 156 
Broadway, New York City. Henry Stokes, 
President. 

Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, 30 
Park Place, New York City. Joseph F. 
Knapp, President. 

Mutual Life Insurance Company, 140 
Broadway, New York City. Frederick S. 
Winston, President. 

New York Life Insurance and Trust 
Company, 52 Wall Street, New York City. 
Henry Parish, President. 

New York Life Insurance Company, 346 
Broadway, New York City. Morris Frank- 

lin, President. . 

Provident Savings Life Assurance Soci¬ 
ety, 195 Broadway, New York City. Shep¬ 
pard Homans, President. 

United States Life Insurance Company, 
261 Broadway, New York City. D • 

Brosnan, President. 

Washington Life Insurance Company, - 

Cortlandt Street, New York City. " >«'»"> 
A ip-ewer Jr., President. 

J Knickerbocker Life Insurance Company 
289 Broadway, New York Cty. John A. 

Ni ®na Life S I d nsurance Company, Hartford, 
Morgan G. Bulkcley, President. 
Conn. Mo „ x Lif - e Insurance Com- 

Connecticut Geneiai 


187 


pany, Hartford, Conn. Thomas W. Russell 
President. 

Connecticut Mutual Life Insurance Com¬ 
pany, Hartford, Conn. Jacob L. Green, 
President. 

Charter Oak Life Insurance Company, 
Hartford, Conn. George M. Bartholomew, 
President. 

Phcenix Mutual Life Insurance Company, 
Ilaitford, Conn. Aaron C. Goodman, Presi¬ 
dent. 

Travellers’ Insurance Company, Hartford, 
Conn. Jas. G. Patterson, President. 

Berkshire Life Insurance Company, Pitts¬ 
field, Mass. \\ illiam R. Plunkett, President. 

John Hancock Mutual Life Insurance 
Company, Boston, Mass. Stephen II. Rhodes, 
President. 

Massachusetts Mutual Life Insurance 
Company, Springfield, Mass. E. W. Bond, 
President. 

New England Mutual Life Insurance 
Company, Boston, Mass. Benjamin F. 
Stevens, President. 

State Mutual Life Insurance Company, 
Worcester, Mass. Isaac Davis, President. 

Mutual Benefit Life Insurance Company, 
Newark, N. J. Lewis C. Grover, President. 

Prudential Life Insurance Company of 
America, Newark, N. J. Noah F. Blanch¬ 
ard, President. 

National Life Insurance Company, Mont¬ 
pelier, Yt. Charles Dewey, President. 

National Life Insurance Company of 
United States of America, Chicago, Ill. J. 
A. Ellis, President. 

Northwestern Mutual Life Insurance 
Company, Milwaukee, Wis. H. L. Palmer, 
President. 

Penn Mutual Life Insurance Company, 
Philadelphia, Pa. Samuel C. Huey, Presi¬ 
dent. 

Provident Life and Trust Company, Phila¬ 
delphia, Pa. Samuel R. Shipley, President. 

Union Central Life Insurance Company, 
Cincinnati, Ohio. John Cochnomer, Presi¬ 
dent. 

Union Mutual Life Insurance Company, 
Augusta, Me. John E. DeWitt, President. 

Western New York Life Insurance Com¬ 
pany, Batavia, N. Y. H. W. Howard, Presi¬ 
dent. __ . 

Lease for Ninety-nine Years.— At one 
time leases were granted tor nine hundred 
and ninety-nine years, because it was the 
popular idea that a lease for one thousand 
years would be a freehold. It afterwards 
became the custom to grant a lease for liie ; 
but to save the fines which became due in 
that case, leases were granted for ninety- 
nine years, as that was thought a term 
which would exceed a man’s life. The 
adoption of ninety-nine years was no doubt 
•i memento of the old stylo of nine hundred 
an d ninety-nine years—Notes and Queries. 
















188 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. 


GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


OUR RAILWAYS. 

When, in 1S29, George Stephenson, the 
father of railways, was driving his first loco¬ 
motive engine between Manchester and Liver¬ 
pool, at the rate of fourteen miles an hour,— 
what was then considered an alarming speed, 
— even the great inventor could scarcely 
have imagined the extraordinary influences 
which his invention was destined to exert 
over mankind. Yet in little over fifty years 
it • has revolutionized the globe, and done 
more towards civilization than any other 
agent in modern times. By practically short¬ 
ening great distances it has brought nations 
together, smoothed differences, facilitated the 
interchange of commodities, and cheapened 
the productions of commerce and agricul¬ 
ture, some of which were not before obtain¬ 
able except at prices that only the most 
affluent could afford. It has done more than 
anything else to overcome national preju¬ 
dices, and to render possible the successful 
working of such vast confederations as those 
of the United States and the German Em¬ 
pire. And, in short, with its great auxiliary, 
the electric telegraph, it is steadily leading to 
the grand results which philosophers have 
predicted of it,—of universal peace and 
good will among men. 

When steam locomotion was }’et in its in¬ 
fancy, grave doubts were entertained as to 
its applicability to our American roads. The 
English roads were virtually straight roads; 
but the topographical condition of this 
country necessitated the use of curves, some 
of which were of as small a radius as two 
hundred feet. The difficulty, however, was 
soon surmounted ; and to the venerable Peter 
Cooper is due, among other lasting benefits 
which he has conferred upon his country, “the 
construction of the first American locomotive 
built for the Baltimore and Ohio road, to 
show that steam might be adapted to curved 
roads.”* The science of engineering has 
not only removed difficulties which were at 
first considered insurmountable, but has 
worked the most wonderful improvements 
in the character of steam locomotion. The 
boring of the Mont Ccnis tunnel shows that 
even huge mountains arc not now permitted 
to obstruct the development of our rapid 
modes of travelling. 

Since the construction of E. L. Miller’s 
locomotive engine, at the West Point foun¬ 
dry, in 1830, the railroad system has devel¬ 
oped in America with the most startling 
rapidity, and at the present time there are 
upwards of sixty thousand miles of railway in 
the United States, representing an aggregate 
capital of four billion dollars. Our railroad 
mileage is about four times greater than that 
of England, and five times that of France; 
while for security, comfort, and convenience, 
American railway travelling is not equalled 

* Vide “Johnson’s Cyclopaedia.” 


anywhere. There is no finer scenery in the 
world than that of the country traversed by 
the Erie Railroad. For miles and miles the 
road runs along the picturesque banks of the 
Susquehanna River, winding through wild 
tracts of forests, skirting the base of giant 
mountains, and defiling through shady val¬ 
leys, smiling farms, cosey villas, and stately 
edifices, and affording the traveller the enjoy¬ 
ment of such grand sights as are only of¬ 
fered by Lake Erie and the Falls of Niagara. 
The Erie road is under the presidency of II. 
J. Jewett, Esq., and no road is better admin¬ 
istered. The other chief roads—also pic¬ 
turesque in their way, and equally well 
conducted—are the “New York Central and 
Hudson,” under the presidency of \Y. II. 
Vanderbilt, Esq.; the Pennsylvania Railroad, 
presided over by Geo. B. Roberts, Esq.; the 
Missouri Pacific, under the presidency of our 
enterprising and successful citizen, Jay Gould, 
Esq.; the Union Pacific, managed by Sidney 
Dillon, Esq.; the Chicago, Rock Island and 
Pacific, with Hugh Riddle, Esq., as president; 
the Central Pacific, under the presidency of 
Leland Stanford, and the New York, New 
Haven and Hartford, under that of C. II. 
Watrous. Esq. 

One of the most magnificent stations in 
the world was opened on the 4th of De¬ 
cember, 1881, by the Pennsylvania Rail¬ 
road Company. Of this depot, situated in 
Broad Street, Philadelphia, the Press of that 
city writes in the following terms: 

“ The work is regarded as a magnificent 
specimen of Gothic architectural art, while 
its interior, in all its fittings and appoint¬ 
ments, is one which enables Philadelphia 
to boast the most comfortable, luxurious, and 
beautiful waiting-place for tourists in Amer¬ 
ica. The Merrick Street front is especially 
ornate and imposing. Its one hundred and 
twenty-three feet of frontage start with a 
ground-floor of Fox Island granite, plainly 
cut in bevelled edges, but with rough rock 
facing. Above it rises a pressed-brick pile, 
four stories in height, with handsomely- 
mounted Gothic windows beautified with 
terra-cotta plaques and mouldings with ar¬ 
abesque ornamentation. A tall tower, one 
hundred and seventy-six feet high, lends im¬ 
posing effect to the northeastern corner, 
while a lower but equally ornamental tower 
complements the southeastern end. The 
windows of plate-glass panes, with stained 
glass transoms and sidelights, are very hand¬ 
some. Altogether, the end facing the Public 
Buildings is all that could be expected in the 
way of making such a building as ought to 
occupy a prominent corner of the centre of 
the city. 

“the grand entrance. 

“ The grand entrance stairway, sixteen feet 
in width, is flanked by eleven-feot-wide side- 
flights, which run into it. The exit-stair 
has a width of thirty-three feet, the respec¬ 


tive lobbies being three thousand two hun¬ 
dred and one thousand square feet in area. 
In addition to the stairways, there are pas¬ 
senger elevators, with an area of two hun¬ 
dred and fifty square feet. The stairways 
arc lined with beautiful colored enamelled 
bricks, artistically set, and the ceilings are 
made entirely of wood, in the Eastlake pat¬ 
tern, handsomely carved. At the top of the 
stairs is a large waiting-room, nearly one 
hundred feet long by fifty-one in width, with 
a cosey fireplace. To the south is the res¬ 
taurant, with its store and dining-room, and 
barber-shop in the rear. East of this is the 
ladies’ waiting-room. Looking out into 
Merrick Street is a ladies’ private parlor. 
Adjoining the barber-shop are bath-rooms. 
Over the restaurant, in a hall-story, is a 
private dining-room, with marble floor and 
tiled chimney, and on the third floor are the 
kitchen and pantries, and immediately over 
them the offices. To the west the doors of 
the main waiting-room open upon the train- 
lobby, thirty-three feet wide, extending 
across the entire Fifteenth Street front, with 
train-gates all along its northern half. The 
southern half communicates with the exit- 
stair hall and the anuval-platforms. Plate 
glass is used in the windows and cathedral 
glass in the doors and transoms. The fur¬ 
niture in the waiting-rooms and I’estaurant 
is noted for its rich and elaborate effect. 

“the roof and tracks. 

“ Between Fifteenth and Sixteenth Streets 
the lower floor, opening by large doors on 
Market and Filbert Streets, is for freight, 
with passage-ways forty-one and thirty-five 
feet wide for wagons. Between these drive¬ 
ways is a platform three hundred and ninety 
by two hundred and thirty feet, elevated 
four feet above the level of the pavement. 
From this platform springs a forest of iron 
columns, supporting the ponderous weight 
of the second floor, over which are to be run 
loaded cars of many tons burden. In the 
Sixteenth Street building, the second floor 
is in two sections, one along Market Street 
for freight, the other, that on the north line, 
for passengers. The former is one hundred 
and thirty-five feet wide, with four tracks 
arranged in pairs, with platforms twenty 
feet across and four feet high between each 
pair. One hundred and forty cars can be 
run in, and find standing room on the tracks. 
An area one hundred and seventy-two feet 
in width on the Filbert Street, or north side ot 
this second floor, is devoted to the accommo¬ 
dation of passenger trains, having eight 
tracks, one along each outside line, and the 
balance in pairs, between each of which 
there is a platform fourteen inches above the 
rail, and twenty-four feet wide. Over all 
this extends an iron truss roof, upheld by 
wrought-iron columns, two triangular French 
spans, covering the freight tracks at a height 








PRESIDED 

of twenty-four feet, while at another span, 
at the east end, is a flat, lean-to roof, nearly 
at a level with the second floor, there beino- 
no second floor underneath it. Above the 
passenger track is a handsome iron-pointed 
arch-roof, of two spans of eighty-five feet 
each, of elegantly designed architecture, 
decorated with ornamental iron work. The 
interior wall of the train house is red and 
buff ornamental brick and terra-cotta, with 
sill courses and skirting of blue marble. Tbe 
passenger roof, and two spans of the freight 
roof, have ridge ventilation, with skylights 
of three-eighths-inch hammered glass. Ex¬ 
tra light and ventilation are also provided 
for on each side of the passenger roof. 

:£ LIGHTED BY ELECTRICITY. 

“On the south side of Filbert Street, from 
Shock across Sixteenth, extends a passenger 
yard, two thousand and forty-two by one 
hundred and six feet, affording room for nine 
tracks. Over the street the arches have 
abutment-piers eighteen feet thick, with 
smaller arches having piers four and a half 
feet thick, covered on top with one and a 
quarter inches of asphalt, to preclude the 
possibility of leakage. Footwalks, four feet 
wide, with iron railings, extend along the 
Filbert and Jones Street fronts. In the 
southwest corner of the second floor are the 
boilers and pumps for raising the lifts and 
heating the passenger station. These lifts 
are admirably planned, occurring at intervals 
all along the first-floor platforms. Goods 
may be taken out of the wagons below, and 
lifted at once to the second floor, exactly 
opposite the door of the car on which they 
are to be loaded. The Avhole building and 
tracks are brilliantly lighted by electricity. 
The trains will begin running from the new 
station on Monday morning (Dec. 5, 1881). 
All the trains leaving West Philadelphia will 
be transferred to Broad Street. There will 
be sub-stations at Twenty-first Street, and at 
Powelton Avenue.” 


THE COURTIN’. 

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 

God makes secli nights, all white an’ still 
Fur’z you can look or listen, 

Moonshine an’ snow on field an’ hill, 

All silence an’ all glisten. 

Zekle crep’ up quite unbeknown, 

An’ peek’d in thru the winder, 

An’ there sot Iluldy all alone, 

’Ith no one nigh to hender. 

A fire-place filled the room’s one side 
With half a cord o’ wood in— 

There warn’t no stoves (tell comfort died) 
To bake ye to a puddin’. 


' JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL 

The wa’nut logs shot sparkles out 
I owards the pootiest, bless her, 

An’ leetle flames danced all about 
The chiny on the dresser. 

Agin tho chimbloy crook-necks hung, 

An’ in amongst ’em rusted 
The old queen’s-arm thet gran’ther Young 
Fetch’d back from Concord busted. 

The very room, ’coz she was in, 

Seem’d warm from floor to ceilin’, 

An’ she looked full ez rosy agin 
Ez the apples she was peelin’. 

’Twas kin’ o’ kingdom-come to look 
On such a blessed cretur; 

A dog-rose blushin’ to a brook 
Ain’t modester nor sweeter. 

He was six foot o’ man, A 1, 

Clean grit an’ human natur’; 

None couldn’t quicker pitch a ton, 

Nor dror a furrer straighter. 

He’d spark’d it with full twenty gals, 
lied squired ’em, danced ’em, druv ’em, 
Fust this one, an’ then that, by spells— 
All is, he couldn’t love ’em. 

But ’long o’ her his veins ’ould run 
All crinkly like curled maple, 

The side she breshed felt full o’ sun 
Ez a south slope in Ap’il. 

She thought no v’ice hod such a swing 
Ez liisn in the choir; 

My! when he made Ole Hundred ring, 

She know'd the Lord was nigher. 

An’ she’d blush scarlit, right in prayer, 
When her new meetin’-bunnet 
Felt somehow thru its crown a pair 
O’ blue eyes sot upon it. 

Tbet night, I tell ye, she look’d some! 

She seemed to’ve gut a new soul, 

For she felt sartin-sure he’d come, 

Down to her very shoe-sole. 

She heered a foot, an’ know d it tu, 
A-raspin’ on the scraper 
All ways to once her feelin’s flew 
Like sparks in burnt-up paper. 

He kin’ o’ l’itcr’d on the mat, 

Some doubtfle o’ the sekle, 

His heart kep’ goin’ pity-pat, 

But hern went pity Zekle. 

An’ yit she gin her cheer a jerk, 

Ez though she wish’d him furder, 

An’ on her apples kep’ to work, 

Parin’ away like murder. 


JOURNAL. 189 


11 ^ 011 want to see my pa, I s’pose?” 

“ Wal—no—I come dasignin’-” 

“ To see my ma? She’s sprinklin’ clo’es 
Agin to-morrer’s i’nin’.” 

To say why gals act so or so, 

Or don’t, ’ould be presumin’; 

Mebby to mean yes an’ say no 
Comes nateral to women. 

He stood a spell on one foot fust, 

Then stood a spell on t’other, 

An’ on which one he felt the wust 
lie couldn’t ha’ told ye nuther. 

, Says he, “ I’d better call agin 

Says she, “Think likely, mister;” 

Thet last word pricked him like a pin, 
An’—wal, he up an’ kist her. 

When ma bimeby upon ’em slips, 

Huldy sot pale ez ashes, 

All kin’ o’ smily roun’ the lips, 

An’ teary roun’ the lashes. 

For she was jes’ the quiet kind 
Whose naturs never vary, 

Like streams that keep a summer mind 
Snow-hid in Jenooary. 

The blood dost roun’ her heart felt glued 
Too tight for all expressin’ 

Tell mother see how metters stood, 

An’ gin ’em both her blessin’. 

Then her red come back like the tide 
Down to the Bay o’ Fundy, 

An’ all I know is they was cried 
In meetin’ come nex’ Sunday. 


SCALES. 

Scales are as old as Adam, who probably 
first used his two hands for balancing arti¬ 
cles. We know that scales were used in the 
earliest historic times. The}’ were improved 
upon by the discovery of the law of the 
lever, which was known to the Egyptians 
and Greeks, the latter claiming the inven¬ 
tion for their countryman Archimedes. Gal¬ 
ileo, who two centuries ago started a new 
era in science, vastly improved the lever 
also. Now an almost perfect accuracy can 
be obtained by our scales. Some have been 
constructed which were affected by one 
seven-millionth of their load. The art of 
weighing has reached such perfection that 
astronomers are now able to weigh the earth 
and other planets, and even the sun itself. 
With the introduction of railways and heavy 
locomotive engines came the necessity for 
monster scales; so that there is no weight 
now too heavy but it can be balanced. At 
Fairbanks’, Broadway. New York, superior 
scales of every description can be purchased. 

















190 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


THE VOICELESS. 

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

We count the broken lyres that rest 
Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, 

But o’er their silent sisters’ breast, 

The wild-flowers, who will stoop to num¬ 
ber ? 

A few can touch the magic string, 

And noisy Fame is proud to win them; 

Alas for those that never sing, 

But die with all their music in them ! 

Nay, grieve not for the dead alone 

AVhose song has told their hearts’ sad 
story- 

Weep for the voiceless, who have known 
The cross without the crown of glory! 

Not where Arcadian breezes sweep 
O’er Sappho’s memory-haunted billow, 

But where the glistening night-dews weep 
On nameless sorrow’s churchyard pillow. 

O hearts that break and give no sign, 

Save whitening lip and fading tresses, 

Till Death pours out his cordial wine, 

Slow-dropp’d from Misery’s crushing 
presses,— 

If singing breath or echoing chord 
To every hidden pang were given, 

What endless melodies were pour’d, 

As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven! 


THE NEW YORK PRESS. 

The following items of information in 
reference to the New York press are gleaned 
from an article which appeared some time 
ago in the Troy Times, and convey startling 
evidence of its wealth. 

In 1845 the senior Bennett, for the pur¬ 
pose of creating a sensation, advertised the 
Herald for sale. In order to display the im¬ 
mense value of his establishment, he placed 
the terms at what then appeared an extrava¬ 
gant rate, the price named being $125,000. 
This offer appeared in the Herald of that 
day, but at present the same establishment 
would be cheap at $2,000,000. The Times, 
which was started on $100,000, is now worth 
$1,250,000. The Ti dbune and the World are 
now each worth $500,000, while the Journal 
of Commerce is valued at double that sum. 
Hugh Hastings, when approached with a 
proposal for the sale of the Commercial Adver¬ 
tiser, mentioned $500,000, but as the terms 
were not accepted he felt released from the 
delay, and withdrew from the proposed 
transaction. 

The amount of capital invested in the 
daily papers of this city is probably not less 
than $8,000,000. In Bennett’s early days, 
however, the}' could all have been bought 
for one-sixteenth that sum. The real value 
was probably as follows: Herald, $25,000 ; 
Tribune, $10,000; Journal of Commerce, 


$25,000; Courier and Enquirer, $20,000; 
Sun, $25,000; Evening Tost and Commercial 
Advertiser, each, $10,000. The Courier was 
discontinued by its proprietor (James Wat¬ 
son Webb) at the beginning of the rebellion, 
when journalism became unprofitable, and 
he had a fine diplomatic appointment. It is 
believed, however, that he always regretted 
this step. 


CLOCKS. 

We are told in the history of England 
that Alfred the Great measured time by 
burning candles. Then there came the 
sand-glass. The Babylonians are supposed 
to have invented the sun-dial, which was 
adopted by other nations for ages after¬ 
wards. Who invented the mechanism 
which we call clocks is not known. The 
tower clock at Padua, in Italy, was erected 
in the year 1344. 

The clock trade of the United States is 
carried on principally in Connecticut, where 
many millions are manufactured yearly, not 
only for home use, but for the export trade. 
The most elegant drawing-room clocks, hall, 
office, and kitchen clocks; clocks of every 
style and price, are to be had at Messrs. 
Bennedict Brothers, corner of Cortlandt 
Street and Broadway, New York. 


The origin of the woolsack on which the 
Lord Chancellor is seated in the House of 
Lords is as follows : In the reign of Queen 
Elizabeth, an Act of Parliament w r as passed 
to prevent the exportation of English wool; 
and the more effectually to secure this source 
of national wealth, the woolsacks on which 
our judges sit, in the House of Lords, were 
placed there to remind them that, in their ju¬ 
dicial capacity, they ought to have a constant 
eye to the preservation of this staple com¬ 
modity of the kingdom .—Notes and Queries. 

Philemon Holland, the Warwickshire 
schoolmaster and physician, was wont to 
boast that he had written his English Ver¬ 
sion of Camden’s Britannia, 1610, with one 
single pen, on which he wrote the following 
quatrain,— 

“ With one sole pen I wrote this hook, 

Made of a gray-goose quill; 

A pen it was when it I took, 

And a pen I leave it still.” 

—Notes and Queries. 

Teeth. —The following is a copj^ of an 
advertisement in the reign of Queen Anne, 
showing that all people did not burn their 
teeth when past service. Those who thus 
employed them must have had an eye for a 
tooth. “Lost, about two months ago, a 
ring with a tooth set in it. Whoever brings 
if to Mr. Green, Goldsmith in the Minories, 
shall have the value of it .”—Notes and Queries. 


JAMES J. BARCLAY. 

Among the choice souls who delight in the 
relief of suffering humanity for its own sake, 
and in the improvement of the intellectual, 
moral, and social condition of their fellow- 
creatures, none ranks higher than Mr. James 
J. Barclay, the well-known lawyer of Phila¬ 
delphia. The whole of his life has been 
one of continuous devotion to the cause of 
charity and philanthropy. Born in Phila¬ 
delphia on the 15th of January, 1794, he re¬ 
ceived the elements of his education under 
the Rev. James Abercrombie, D.D., and grad¬ 
uated at the University of Pennsylvania 
in June, 1812. Having adopted the legal 
profession, he was admitted to the bar in 
1815 ; joined the State Fencibles in 1813, 
and entered the United States military ser¬ 
vice under the command of Colonel Clement 
C. Biddle. He became a member of the 
Philadelphia Prison Society in 1819, of 
which he is now the president. In 1826 
he was appointed secretary of the House of 
Refuge in that city, of which, also, he is 
now the president. In 1833, whilst a di¬ 
rector of the First Section of the Public 
Schools of Pennsylvania, he was chosen 
secretary, and subsequently president of 
the Board, which position he held until 
his resignation in 1850. He was for many 
years a controller of the public schools of 
Pennsylvania, and for nearly eleven years 
chairman of the committee to examine ap¬ 
plicants for situations as teachers and assist¬ 
ant teachers in the First Section, and chair¬ 
man of the Committee on Primary, Secon¬ 
dary, and Grammar Schools of the First 
School District. He is also secretary of the 
Pennsylvania Institution for the Deaf and 
Dumb, and president of theEtnlen Institute. 
Mr. Barclay’s good works do not consist in 
the performance of bare official duties, but in 
generous, substantial deeds of charity to the 
necessitous. 


A living man, lying on a bench, extended 
as a corpse, can be lifted with ease by the 
forefingers of two persons standing on each 
side, provided the lifters and the lifted inhale 
at the moment the effort is being made. If 
the lifted do not inhale, he cannot be moved 
off the bench at all; but the inhalation of 
the lifters, although not essential, seems to 
give additional power. 

Pale blue is a privilege which, with some 
few exceptions, nature only grants to the 
flower of the fields and meadows. She is 
parsimonious in blue; blue is the color of the 
heavens, and she only gives it to the poor 
whom she loves above all others. 

The brave man is not he that feels no fear, 
for that were stupid and irrational; hut he 
whose noble soul its fear subdues, and bravely 
dares the danger nature shrinks from. • 
Johanna Baillie. 








































































PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S 


MEMORIAL journal. 


191 


SUCCESSFUL MEN. 

It is not every man who makes money 
that succeeds. Many acquire wealth, and 
yet are failures. They arc failures because 
they are deficient in the qualities of heart. 
They are wrapped up in egotism, disregard 
the promptings of humanity and charity, 
and repel esteem and consideration; movim- 
about in a world with which they do not 
sympathize, and from which they receive no 
sympathy. These are the truly miserable. 

The really successful are those who may 
or may not have acquired positions of ease 
and independence, but who have succeeded in 
winning their way to the respect, admira¬ 
tion, and affection of their countrymen. 
They are the large-hearted Samaritans, ever 
ready to assist and encourage, though it 
may not be without a sacrifice. And they 
are successful because they can at all times 
command the sympathies of their fellow- 
men. 

Of the really successful men of this coun¬ 
try the following gentlemen may be looked 
upon as among the representative types; 
and in recording their names we are happy 
to have the opportunity of tendering to 
many of them our thanks for the encourage¬ 
ment which we have hitherto received at 
their hands, and of publicly recognizing the 
“chivalrous regard” for the interests of 
women, which distinguishes them all: 

Rev. Bishop Simpson, D.D., Philadelphia. 

Dr. Lewis A. Sayre, the great surgeon, New 
York. 

H. II. Vandyke, Brooklyn. 

C. V. B. Ostrander, New York. 

B. B. Sherman, New York. 

James Gopsill, Jersey City. 

Samuel L. Knox, New York. 

A. T. Briggs, New York. 

W. II. Thrall, New York. 

J. J. Barclay, Philadelphia. 

G. M. Pullman, New York. 

G. W. Quintard, New York. 

M. W. Cooper, New York. 

W. P. Clyde, New York. 

Norvin Green, President of Western Union 
Telegraph Company. 

George II. Watrous, President of the New 
York, New Ilaven, and Hartford Rail¬ 
road. 

II. J. Jewett, President of the Erie Railroad. 
E. S. Bowen, General Superintendent ot the 
Erie Railroad. 

G. R. Blanchard, Vice-President of the Erie 
Railroad. 

R. C. Vilas, New York. 

M. Hall Stanton, Philadelphia. 

Governor S. L. Woodford, United States 
District Attorney, New York. 

II. B. Claflin, New York. 

E. S. Jaffray, New York. 

Newton M. Carpenter, New York. 

J. B. Lippincott, Philadelphia. 


Col. A. L. Snowden, Philadelphia. 

Mr. Plimley, New York Post-office. 

M. R. Waite, Chief Justice of the United 
States. 

Samuel.J. Miller, Justice Supreme Court of 
the United States. 

T. W. Ferry, Senator. 

Cyrus II. Loutrel. 

J. D. Ledle, ex-Governor of New Jersey. 

Samuel J. Randall, ex-Speaker of the House 
of Representatives. 

R. B. Hayes, ex-President of the United 
States. 

W. A. Wheeler, ex-Vice-President of the 
United States. 

W. M. Evarts, late Secretary of State. 

Charles Devens, late Attorney-General. 

John Sherman, late Secretary of Treasury. 

R. W. Thompson, late Secretary of Navy. 

C. Schurz, late Secretary of Interior. 

D. M. Key, late Postmaster-General. 

Col. S. P. Gilbert. 

Hon. Orestes Cleveland, 1st Vice-President 
of Centennial Exposition. 

George II. Jewett, President of N. Y., N. II. 
and II. R. R. 

George W. Childs, Philadelphia. 

T. Bush, Niagara, N. Y. (built Niagara 
Bridge). 

L. Van Bokkelen, Buffalo, N. Y. 

John II. Reed, New York City. 

M. Franklin, New York City. 

W. E. Sheldon, Boston, Mass. 

W. Wade, New York City. 

James M. Horton, Jersey City. 

J. J. Watson, New York City. 

W. A. Camp, Manager of Clearing House, 
New York. 

O. A. Gager, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

C. R. Adams, New York City. 

John Wade, New York City. 

G. V. Thompson, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

The venerable Peter Cooper, founder of 
Cooper Union, New York. 

Hon. Thurlow Weed, oldest living editor in 
New York. 

Mr. Wilson G. Hunt, one of the oldest cloth 
merchants in New York. 

Mr. Corcoran, of Washington, founder of the 
Louise Home and of the Corcoran Art 
Gallery. 

M. A. Decker, of Decker & Sons, piano-forte 
manufacturers, New York. 

Henry Belden, Jr., of Belden, Ogden & Co. 

Wm. A. Boyd, of New York. 

S. Moran, Brooklyn, N. I . 

A. M. Palmer, New York City. 

John II. Horsfall, New York City. 

M. II. Ilogers, New York City. 

George Hillier, Custom-House, New York. 

O. L. Sticktor, Reading, Pa. 

Capt. D. A. Griffith, Washington, D. C. 

Fred. Butterfield, Jas. L. Claghorn, A. 
Wheeler, M. Perry, J. Holden, all oi 
Wheeler & Wilson Sewing Machine Co., 
New York. 


L. R. Poillon, New York. 

Isaac Odell, New York. 

L. W. Fickins, New York. 

Capt. George B. Raymond, Bordentown, 
N. J. 

Charles T. Daltcr, New York. 

J. II. Roberts, Washington, D. C. 

John E. Gopsill, Postmaster, Jersey City. 
James C. Allen, Philadelphia. 

James M. Rabb, Philadelphia. 

John Rogers, Philadelphia. 

Shepord Knapp, New York City. 

Seymour Bunce, New York City. 

L. Bachman, New York City. 

John W. Ellis, New York City. 

T. Dickson, Scranton, Pa. 

Russell P. Clapp, People’s Line, Albany. N. Y. 

S. B. Barton, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

J. J. Kiernan, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Thomas Pitbladdo, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

C. W. Tandy, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

James Sharkey, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

John Wilson, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

John Green, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

John Shaw, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

John Feitner, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Robert T. Mackeller, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Joseph Park, of the firm of Park & Tilford, 
David D. Acker, W. J. Merrall and J. W. 
Condit, of the firm of Merrall, Acker & 
Condit, New York. 

W. W. Harding, Philadelphia. 

Dr. Diller Luther, Reading, Pa. 

E. Clymer, Reading, Pa. 

John E. Creth, Philadelphia. 

Charles Dotter, New York City. 

J. W. Foshay, New York City. 

Dr. E. Morwitz, Philadelphia. 

Isaac IV. Kahn, Philadelphia. 

James M. Divine, Philadelphia. 

John S. Thorn, New York City. 

J. Rosenblatt, New York City. 

Charles L. Sharpless, Philadelphia. 

II. W. Sharpless, Philadelphia. 

F. S. Colladay, Philadelphia. 

Ed. Ridley, Philadelphia. 

E. C. Knight, New York City. 

Ed. Clinton, Philadelphia. 

James Pyle, New York City. 

N. P. Denslow, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Gilman Collamore, New York City. 

Davis Collamore, New York City. 

J. W. Walker, New York City. 

W. A. Falls, New York City. 

A. B. Mullet, Washington, D. C. 

T. S. Verdi, Washington. D. C. 

W. S. Hildrup, Harrisburg, Pa. 

II. O’Neill, New York City. 

Nelson Sizer, New York City. 

E. C. Knox, New York City. 

John Matthews, New York City. 

John II. Andrews, Adams Express, New 
York. 

James McCreery, New I ork. 

A. Partridge, Philadelphia. 

I’. D. Richardson, Philadelphia. 













DIRECTORY NE W YORK CITY BANKS. 


No. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

7 

8 
in 
1 I 
12 

13 

14 

15 

16 

17 

18 

19 

20 


21 


23 

25 

27 

28 

29 

30 

31 

32 

33 

34 

35 

36 
40 

42 

43 

44 

45 
47 

49 

50 

53 

54 
56 

58 

59 
61 
62 

63 

64 

65 

66 
67 

70 

71 


72 

74 

75 

76 

77 

78 
5 

30 

35 

67 

25 

47 

71 

21 

79 
35 


NEW YORK CLEARING HOUSE 


FREDERICK D. TAPPEN....,. President. 

II. II. NAZRO. Secretary. 


WILLIAM A. CAMP 
JOHN P. RITTER.... 


.. Manager. 

Assistant Manager. 


Clearing House. 
William Dowd, 

E. II. Perkins, Jr., 
B. B. Sherman, 
Thomas Monahan, 
George F. Baker. 


Conference. 
P. C. Calhoun, 
G. G. Williams, 
George S. Coe, 
Percy R. Pyne, 
II. W. Ford. 


COMMITTEES. 

Nominations. 

John D. Fish, 

0. D. Berry, 

Alexander Gilbert, 

G. G. Brinckerhoff, 

Zenas E. Newell. 


Banks. 


President. 


Cashier. 


Locality. 


Bank of N. Y. National Bank¬ 
ing Association. 

Manhattan Company. 

Merchants’ National Bank. 

Mechanics’ National Bank. 

Union National Bank. 

Bank of America. 

Phenix National Bank. 

National City Bank. 

Tradesmen’s National'Bank.... 

Fulton National Bank. 

Chemical National Bank. 

Merchants’ Exchange National 

Bank. 

Gallatin National Bank. 

National Butchers’ and Dro¬ 
vers’ Bank. 

Mechanics’ and Traders’ Na¬ 
tional Bank. 

Greenwich Bank. 

Leather Manufacturers’ Na¬ 
tional Bank. 

Seventh Ward National Bank.. 
National Bank of the State of 

New York. 

American Exchange National 

Bank. 

National Bank of Commerce... 

National Broadway Bank. 

Mercantile National Bank. 

Pacific Bank. 

National Bank of the Republic 

Chatham National Bank. 

People’s Bank. 

Bank of North America. 

Hanover National Bank. 

Irving National Bank. 

Metropolitan National Bank... 

National Citizens’ Bank. 

Nassau Bank. 

Market National Bank. 

St. Nicholas National Bank_ 

National Shoe and Leather 

Bank. 

Corn Exchange Bank. 

Continental National Bank. 

Oriental Bank. 

Marine National Bank. 

Importers’ and Traders’ Na¬ 
tional Bank. 

National Park Bank. 

National Mechanics’ Banking 

Association. 

North River Bank. 

East River National Bank. 

Fourth National Bank. 

Central National Bank. 

Second National Bank. 

Ninth National Bank. 

First National Bank. 

Third National Bank. 

New York National Exchange 

Bank. 

Bowery National Bank. 

New York County National 

Bank. 

German-American Bank. 

Chase National Bank. 

Assistant Treasurer United 

States at New York. 

Fifth Avenue Bank. 

German Exchange. 

Germania. 

Bank of the Metropolis. 

Eleventh Ward. 

Fifth National. 

Island City. 

Murray Hill. 

Produce. 

Sixth National. 

Mount Morris. 

United States National. 

West Side Bank. 


Charles M. Fry. 

William H. Smith. 

J. D. Vermilye. 

B. B. Sherman. 

D. C. Hays. 

William L. Jenkins.. 

P. M. Bryson. 

Moses Taylor. 

Richard Berry. 

Thomas Monahan.... 
G. G. Williams. 

W. A. Thomson. 

F. D. Tappen. 

G. G. Brinckerhoff... 

George W. Nash. 

J. S. McLean. 

N. F. Palmer. 

G. Montague. 

R. L. Edwards. 

George S. Coe. 


F. A. Palmer. 

G. W. Perkins... 
Jacob Campbell. 

II. W. Ford. 

George M. Hard 
Charles F. Hunter... 

William Dowd. 

James T. Woodward. 

J. L. Jewett. 

George J. Seney. 

S. R. Comstock. 

F. M. Harris. 

R. Bayles. 

A. B. Graves. 

A. V. Stout. 

William A. Falls. 

E. D. Randolph. 

W. A. Hall. 

Jas. D. Fish. 

E. II. Perkins, Jr. 

George H. Potts. 

F. Chandler. 

Levi Apgar. 

Charles Jenkins. 

P. C. Calhoun. 


J. Cl Eno. 

J. T. Hill. 

G. F. Baker. 

William A. Booth 

D. B. Halstead. 

II. P. DeGraff. 

Francis Leland.... 

II. Roehel. 

S. C. Thompson... 


P. Von Volkenburgh 

M. J. Adrian. 

C. Schwartzwaelder.. 

Robert Schell. 

Henry Steers. 

Richard Kelly. 

G. A. Robinson, act’g 
William A. Darling.. 


Francis Leland. 

A. P. Ketcham. 

II. Victor Newcomb.. 
George Moore. 


R. B. Ferris. 

J. T. Baldwin. 

C. V. Banta. 

W. II. Cox. 

J. M. Lewis. 

Robert Jaffray. 

John Parker. 

D. Palmer. 

0. F. Berry. 

R. M. Buchanan.... 
Wm. J. Quinlan, Jr. 

A. S. Apgar. 

A. W. Sherman. 

W. II. Chase. 

F. Baltes. 

William Hawes. 

D. L. Holden. 

J. D. W. Grady. 

J. II. Rolston. 

D. Clark. 

Richard King. 

J. L. Everitt. 

William P. St. John 
Robert Buck. 

E. II. Pullen. 

II. P. Doremus. 

William Milne, Jr.. 

F. W. Whittemore.. 

A. B. Williams. 

G. E. Souper. 

G. J. McGourkey .. 

W. H. Oakley. 

W. II. Rogers. 

A. Gilbert. 

A. Parkhurst. 

John M. Crane. 

W. A. Nash. 

Fred. Taylor. 

C. W. Starkey. 

John D. Fish. 

Edward Townsend. 
E. K. Wright. 

J. II. B. Edgar. 

E. E. Gedney. 

Z. E. Newell. 

A. Lane. 

E. Skillen. 

0. D. Roberts. 

H. II. Nazro. 

E. Scofield. 

G. S. Hutchings. 

C. B. Outcalt. 

R. Hamilton. 

G. II. Wyckoff.. 

C. O. Andrus. 

J. W. White. 


J. A. Morsehauser.. 
Theodore Rogers... 
Charles E. Brown... 

A. Thompson. 

Geo. T. Vail. 

A. II. Gale. 

N. O. Suydain. 

A. E. Colsen. 

T. W. Robinson. 

Logan C. Murray... 
J. W. B. Doblor. 


48 Wall Street. 

40 “ “ . 

42 “ “ . 

33 “ “ . 

34 “ “ . 

46 “ “ . 

45 “ “ . 

52 “ “ . 

291 Broadway. 

37 Fulton Street. 

270 Broadway. 

257 “ . 

36 Wall Street. 

124 Bowery. 

153 “ . 

402 Hudson Street... 

29 Wall Street. 

234 Pearl Street. 

35 William Street... 

128 Broadway. 

27 Nassau Street. 

237 Broadway. 

191 “ . 

470 “ . 

2 Wall Street. 

196 Broadway. 

395 Canal Street. 

44 Wall Street. 

11 Nassau Street. 

287 Greenwich St... 

108 Broadway. 

401 “ . 

9 Beekman Street... 
105 “ “ ... 

7 Wall Street. 

271 Broadway. 

13 William Street... 

7 Nassau Street. 

122 Bowery. 

78 Wall Street. 

247 Broadway. 

216 “ . 

38 Wall Street. 

187 Greenwich St.... 
682 Broadway. 

14 Nassau Street. 

320 Broadway. 

190 Fifth Avenue... 

407 Broadway. 

Broadway & Wall St. 
20 Nassau Street. 

136 Chambers Street 
62 Bowery. 

79 Eighth Avenue... 

50 Wall Street. 

104 Broadway. 


531 Fifth Avenue... 
245 Bowery. 

215 “ 

17 Union Square. 

117 A venue D. 

300 Third Avenue... 
376 Sixth Avenue... 
558 Third Avenue... 

32 Park Place. 

1332 Broadway. 

133 East 125th St.... 

Nassau Street. 

479 Eighth Avenue.. 


A. S. Frissell 
A. Fahs. 


Original 

Charter. 


March 21,1784 
April 2,1799 
March 26, 1805 
1809 

May, 1811 
1812 
1813 
1812 

1823 

1824 
1824 

1831 

1831 

April, 1830 

April, 1830 
1830 

April, 1832 
1833 

1836 

April, 1838 
July, 1839 
August, 1849 
1850 

1850 

January, 1851 
February, 1851 
February, 1851 

1851 

March, 1851 

1851 

April, 1851 
May, 1853 

1852 

August, 1852 

1852 

January, 1852 

1853 

January, 1853 
1853 

February, 1851 

March, 1855 
March, 1856 

October, 1838 
February, 1821 
Septem. 1852 


April, 1864 
August, 1863 


1863 


April, 1851 
1865 

May 1865 

July, 1870 
Septem. 1877 


On Admissions. 

N. F. Palmer, 

W. A. Nash, 

W. A. Hall, 

G. J. McGourkey, 
George H. Wyckoff. 


Arbitration. 
John Parker, 

W. L. Jenkins, 
E. D. Randolph, 
J. L. Everitt, 

J. T. Woodward. 


Capital. 

Surplus 
Oct. 1, 1881. 

Par 

Value 

Stock. 

Dividends. 

Last Dividend 
Paid. 

1878. 

1879. 

1880. 

$3,000,000 

$729,300 

$100 

7 

8 

8 

J uly, 

1881, 4 

2,050,000 

1,054,000 

50 

8 

7 

7 

Feb. 

1881, 34 

2,000,000 

747,400 

50 

64 

7 

7 

Jan. 

1881, 34 

2,000,000 

1,175,600 

25 

8 

8 

8 

Jan. 

1881, 4 

1,200,000 

762,400 

50 

10 

8 

10 

May, 

1881, 5 

3,000,000 

1,638,900 

100 

8 

74 

7 

July, 

1881, 34 

1,000,000 

246,300 

20 

6 

3 

6 

Jan. 

1881, 3 

1,000,000 

1,734,300 

100 

10 

10 

15 

May, 

1881, 10 

1,000,000 

355,700 

40 

74 

7 

7 

July, 

1881, 4 

600,000 

393,200 

30 

10 

7 

7 

May, 

1881, 34 

300,000 

3,547,400 

100 

100 

100 

100 

May, 

1881, 15 

1,000,000 

190,300 

50 

100 

54 

6 

July, 

1881, 3 

1,000,000 

910,000 

50 

7 

74 

8 

April, 

1881, 4 

300,000 

217,S00 

25 

7 

6 

6 

July, 

1881, 34 

200,000 

48,000 

25 

7 

24 

6 

July, 

1879, 24 

200,000 

30,000 

25 

6 

6 

6 

May, 

1881, 3 

600,000 

465,800 

100 

11 

8 

9 

Jan. 

1881, 5 

300,000 

59,200 

100 

3 

8 

6 

Jan. 

1881, 3 

800,000 

405,400 

100 

7 

7 

7 

May, 

1881, 34 

5,000,000 

1,647,800 

100 

6 

6 

7 

May, 

1881, 34 

5,000,000 

2,987,100 

100 

8 

8 

8 

Jan. 

1881, 4 

1,000,000 

1,296,700 

25 

16 

16 

16 

Jan. 

1881, 8 

1,000,000 

181,100 

100 

6 

3 

16 

Jan. 

1881, 3 

422,700 

237,700 

50 

10 

10 

10 

Mav, 

1881, 24 

1,500,000 

764,700 

100 

6 

64 

8 

Feb. 

1881, 4 

450,000 

180,300 

25 

6 

6 

6 

Jan. 

1881, 3 

412,500 

115,600 

25 

8 

7 

7 

Jan. 

1881, 34 

700,000 

193,400 

70 

8 

7 

6 

Jan. 

1881, 3 

1,000,000 

366,100 

100 

7 

7 

7 

July, 

1881, 34 

500,000 

148,800 

50 

8 

8 

8 

J uly, 

1881, 4 

3,000,000 

1,346,700 

100 

10 

9 

10 

Jan. 

1881, 5 

600,000 

188,200 

25 

6 

6 

64 

July, 

1SS1, 34 

1,000,000 

135,900 

100 

5 

5 

6 

May, 

1881, 3 

500,000 

329,300 

100 

7 

74 

8 

Jan. 

18SI, 4 

500,000 

158,300 

100 

7 

3 

64 

Jan. 

1881, 34 

500,000 

180,600 

100 

10 

8 

8 

Jan. 

1881, 4 

1,000,000 

931,200 

100 

10 

10 

10 

Feb. 

1881, 5 

1,000,000 

285,700 

100 

10 

34 

7 

Jan. 

1881, 34 

300,000 

186,000 

25 

10 

8 

8 

Jan. 

1881, 4 

400,000 

111,900 

100 

10 

3 

7 

Jan. 

1881, 4 

1,500,000 

2,139,900 

100 

14 

14 

14 

Jan. 

1881, 7 

2,000,000 

1,002,000 

100 

6 

6 

7 

J uly, 

1881, 4 

500,000 

84,200 

50 

2 

4 

54 

May, 

1SS1, 3 

240,000 

75,700 

50 

2 

7 

7 

Jan. 

1881, 34 

250,000 

79,800 

25 

34 

7 

7 

Jan. 

1881, 34 

3,200,000 

1,303,900 

100 

6 

6 

7 

Jan. 

1881, 34 

2,000,000 

517,900 

100 

7 

7 

74 

J uly, 

1881, 4 

300,000 

117,400 

100 

9 

8 

10 

Jan. 

1881, 5 

750,000 

150,200 

100 

9 

5 

6 

July, 

1881, 34 

500,000 

2,914,700 

100 

12 

120 

10 

April, 

1881, 10 

1,000,000 

311,100 

100 

3 

120 

7 

Jan. 

1881, 34 

300,000 

99,800 

100 

8 

74 

7 

Feb. 

1881, 34 

250,000 

209,600 

100 

11 

10 

10 

July, 

1881, 5 

200,000 

51,100 

100 

8 

8 

8 

Jan. 

1881, 4 

750,000 

156,800 

85 

8 

24 

5 

Feb. 

1881, 3 

300,000 

191,600 

100 

8 

3 

6 

March 

1881, 4 

100,000 

285,400 

100 

8 

3 

6 



200,000 

96,000 

100 

5 

5 

5 

May, 

1881, 8 

200,000 

102,200 

100 

5 

3 

6 

May, 

1881, 3 

300,000 

99,000 

50 

5 

7 

7 

Jan. 

1881, 34 

100,000 

14,000 

25 

5 

7 

7 

July, 

1876, 3 

150,000 

40,100 

100 

6 

6 

6 

Jan. 

1881, 3 

100,000 

4,400 

100 

3 

6 

6 

July, 

1880, 3 

100,000 

83,900 

100 

12 

12 

12 

Jan. 

1881, 3 

125,000 

900 

100 

12 

12 

12 

July, 

1874, 34 

200,000 

63,000 

100 

6 

6 

6 

Jan. 

1881, 3 

98,000 

9 300 

i nn 


Maw 




250,000 

99 Ann 

1 mi 





200'000 

126,700 

100 

8 

12 

12 

Jan. 

1881, 10 










New York, 1881. 

192 


Surplus from returns of October, 1881. 


WILLIAM A. CAMP, Manager. 
















































































































































































































































































































HOUSE 


PHILADELPHIA CLEARING 

4:2iT Cliestnut Street. 


OFFICERS OF THE ASSOCIATION. 

1881 . 


President. 

JOSEPH PATTERSON, 

President of the Western National Bank. 
Secretary. 

WILLIAM H. EH AWN, 

President of the National Bank of the Republic. 


CLEARING HOUSE COMMITTEE. 

CHARLES II. ROGERS, Chairman, President Tradesmen’s National Bank. 
EDWIN M. LEWIS, President Farmers’ and Mechanics’ National Bank. 
TIIOMAS SMITH, President Bank of North America. 

BENJAMIN B. COMEGYS, President Philadelphia National Bank. 
JAMES V. WATSON, President Consolidation National Bank. 

GEORGE PIIILLER, President First National Bank. 

JOSEPH PATTERSON, President of the Western National Bank, ex-officio. 


COMMITTEE OF ARBITRATION. 

DANIEL B. CUMMINS, Chairman, President Girard National Bank. 

WILLIAM GUMMERE, President of the National Bank of the Northern Liberties. 
GEORGE M. TROUTMAN, President Central National Bank. 

JAMES L. CLAGIIORN, President Commercial National Bank. 

FRANCIS P. STEEL, President Southwark National Bank. 

GILLIES DALLETT, President Penn National Bank. 


CLEARING HOUSE DEPOSITORY. 


THE FARMERS’ 


AND MECHANICS’ NATIONAL BANK. 


Manager. 


GEORGE E. ARNOLD. 


Banks. 


Bank of North America. 

Centennial National Bank. 

Central National Bank. 

City National Bank. 

Commercial National Bank. 

Commonwealth National Bank. 

Consolidation National Bank. 

Corn Exchange National Bank. 

Eighth National Bank... 

Farmers’ and Mechanics’National Bank. 

First NationaliBank. 

Girard National Bank. 

Kensington National Bank. 

Keystone National Bank. 

Manufacturers’ National Bank. 

Mechanics’ National Bank. 

Merchants’ National Bank. 

National Bank of Commerce. 

National Bank of Germantown. 

National Bank of Northern Liberties. 

National Bank of the Republic. 

National Security Bank... 

Penn National Bank. 

Philadelphia National Bank. 

"Second National Bank. 

Seventh National Bank. 

Sixth National Bank. 

Southwark National Bank. 

Third National Bank. 

Tradesmen’s National Bank. 

Union National Bank. 

Western National Bank. 

Philadelphia Clearing-House Association 


No. 


(502* 

2317* 

723* 

543* 

556* 

623* 

561* 

542* 

522* 

538* 

1 * 

592* 

544* 

2291* 

557* 

610* 

2462* 

547* 

546 

541* 

1647* 

1743* 

540* 

539* 

213 

413* 

352* 

560* 

234* 

570’ 

563* 

656* 


Street. 


President. 


Thomas Smith. 

E. A. Ptollins . 

George M. Troutman. 

John Baird. 

James L. Ciaghorn. 

II. N. Burroughs. 

James Y. Watson. 

Dell Noblit. Jr. 


307 Chestnut Street. 

Thirty-second and Market Streets 

109 South Fourth Street. 

32 North Sixth Street. 

314 Chestnut Street. 

Walnut and Fourth Streets. 

329 North Third Street. 

Second and Chestnut Streets. 

Second Street and Girard Avenue.I Jacob Naylor. 

427 Chestnut Street. Edwin M. Lewis. 

315 Chestnut Street. Georgc'Philler. 

South Third, near Chestnut Street. Daniel B. Cummins.... 

Girard and Frankford Avenues.j Washington I. Landell 

1326 atnd 1328 Chestnut Street. John C. Lucas. 

27 North Third Street. John W. Moffly„ 

24 South Third 

108 South Fourth Street. 

209 Chestnut Street. 

4800 Germantown Avenue... 

Vine and 
318 Chestnut 
Seventh 

Vine and Sixth Streets 

419 Chestnut Street. 

4434 Frankford. 

Market and Fourth Streets. 

Second and Pine Streets. 

610 South Second Street. 

S. W. cor. Broad and Market Streets... 

113 South Third Street. 

Arch and Third Streets. 

406 and 408 Chestnut Street. 

427 Chestnut Street. 


Cashier. 


John H. Watt. 

H. M. Lutz. 

Theodore Kitchen, S. . 

G. Albert Lewis. 

Edwin P. Graham. 

Effingham Perot.. 

William II. Webb. 

H. P. Schetky. 

James A. Irwin. 

Samuel W. Bell, M . 

Morton McMichael, Jr.... 
William L. Schaffer, R... 

Georse A. Linton. 

G. Wl Marsh, II . 

•Moses W. Woodward, D. 


Street. John Rommel, Jr. William Underdown 

George II. Stuart. Charles II. Biles. 

P. C. Hollis.j John A. Lewis. 

William W. Wister. Charles W. Otto. 


nd Third Streets. William,Gummere. John Rapson, V . 

estnut Street. 1 William II. Rhawn. Joseph P. Mumford. 

l Street and Girard Avenue. George Gelbach.... George tV. Cox... 

»1 Sixth Streets. Gillies Dallett. George P. Longhead. 


head.. 

B. 11. Comcgys. j James M. Gregg. 

Benjamin Rowland. Charles W. Lee. 

L. D. Brown.I William II. lleisler. 

Jonathan May.. Robert B. Salter. 

Francis P. Steel.! Peter Lamb, II. . 

David B. Paul.i Percy M. Lewis, S. . 

Charles II. Rogers.i John Castner. 

David Faust. Peter A. Keller......- 

C. N. Wevgandt, II. 

George E. Arnold, Mgr... 


Joseph Patterson. 
Joseph Patterson. 


GEORGE E 


(Members indicated by a *. 


Capital Paid. 

Surplus 
Oct. 1,1881. 


$1,000,000 

300,000 

60,000 

750,000 

700,000 

400,000 

380.000 

810,000 

231,000 

208,000 


300,000 

275,000 

500,000 

250,000 

275,000 

ISO,000 

2 ,000,000 

500,000 

1 ,000,000 

500,000 

1 ,000,000 

750,000 

250,000 

50,000 

200,000 

25,000 

935,000 

200,000 

800,000 

175,000 

600,000 

35,000 

250,000 

70.750 

200,000 

10O.000 

500,000 

500,000 

500,000 

200,000 

250,000 

31.000 

500,000 

100,000 

1,500,000 

750,000 

280,000 

60,000 

250,000 

35,000 

150,000 

35,000 

250,000 

135,303 

300,000 

60,000 

200,000 

500,000 

500,000 

110,000 

400,000 

150,000 

ARNOLD, 

Manancr , 

198 










































































































































194 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 
























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


195 


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tVA S HIMG TOM. 


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196 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


THE CENTURY SAFE. 

The following gives a full description of 
the Century Safe in the National Capitol at 
Washington, together with the purpose for 
which it was designed. 

The Century Safe, which attracted so 
much attention at our Centennial Exhibit in 
1STG, and which is now in the Capitol, Wash¬ 
ington, D. C., was originated by C. F. Deihm, 
of New York, while the albums enclosed in 
it, and surrounding it, were also designed 
and prepared by that lady. The fire-proof 
safe was especially designed for the purpose 
of preserving the relics therein enclosed. 

The exterior is delicately tinted and em¬ 
bellished with designs in the national colors. 
On the top of the safe is this inscription,— 
“Dedicated to the People of the United 
States by C. F. Deihm, July 4, 187G.” 

It is lined with velvet of royal purple, and 
the inner door of the safe is of plate-glass, 
with a border of cut-glass. This door was 
closed and locked on Washington’s birthday, 
1879, and will not be reopened for one hun¬ 
dred years. The outer doors of iron may 
be opened when necessary, and it is intended 
that they shall remain open after a suitable 
protection shall have been built around the 
safe. Upon each of these outer doors is an 
inscription. Upon the one opening to the 
right, these words,—“ It is the wish of Mrs. 
Deiiim that this safe may remain closed un¬ 
til July 4, 1970, then to be opened by the 
Chief Magistrate of the United States.” 
Upon the left, these words,—“In memory of 
those whose names appear upon the pages 
of the Albums deposited within, who have 
rendered distinguished service to their coun¬ 
try.” 

CONTENTS OF THE SAFE. 

Within this safe were placed, on the day 
of its closing, two albums; one containing 
the photographs, the other the autographs, 
of the most distinguished statesmen, jurists, 
legislators, orators, clergymen, poets, scien¬ 
tists, historians, and merchants at that time. 
In the photograph albums are the photo¬ 
graphs of five hundred leading men of the 
nation. The autograph album (the sheets 
of which have been sent to every State and 
Territory in the Union, for the signatures of 
its eminent men) has a line reserved under 
each signature, on which, one hundred years 
hence, may be inscribed the autographs of 
the nearest descendant bearing the same 
name. 

The inkstands, of solid gold and silver, 
also within the safe, have engraved upon 
them the old pine-tree shilling, the shield of 
the Union, and the proverbial pen and sword. 
These being also the emblems which form 
the heading of the U. S. Centennial Welcome. 
The pens are of pearl and gold. One of the 
pens in the safe is dedicated to Mi. llcmy 
W. Longfellow. 


The duplicate, which is in the possession 
of C. F. Deihm, is dedicated to lion. Peter 
Cooper, lion. Thurlow Weed, and to Mr. 
William Cullen Bryant. The inkstands and 
pens arc the work of Tiffany A Co., Kew 
York. 

The additional articles placed in the safe 
are the following, with the reasons for their 
deposit,— 

1st. Framed picture of George Washing¬ 
ton, tribute to him as first President of the 
United States, and presiding Chief Magis¬ 
trate at the beginning of our first century. 

2d. Framed picture of Abraham Lincoln, 
as a tribute to one, who, through the trying 
ordeal of our rebellion, fulfilled the duties of 
his office, as Chief Magistrate of the United 
States, with honesty and patience, and who 
finally fell a martyr to the cause he had 
served. 

Framed picture of ex-President U. S. 
Grant, tribute to him as presiding Chief 
Magistrate of the United States during our 
Centennial year. 

Framed picture of Mrs. U. S. Grant, tribute 
to her as wife of presiding Chief Magistrate 
of the United States during our Centennial 
year. 

Framed picture of ex-President Rutherford 
B. Hayes, tribute to him as first Chief Mag¬ 
istrate of the United States in our second 
century. 

Framed picture of Mrs. Rutherford B. 
Hayes, tribute to her as wife of first Chief 
Magistrate in our second century. 

3d. Framed picture of ex-Vice-President 
Wilson, tribute to him as presiding Vice- 
President during our Centennial year. 

Framed picture of ex-Vice-President 
Wheeler, tribute to him as first Vice-Presi¬ 
dent in our second century. 

Picture of lion. S. W. Ferry, tribute to 
him as President pro tempore of the Senate 
during the Centennial year, also as one who 
lent liberal aid in the management of the 
safe. 

Picture of Hon. S. J. Randall, tribute to 
him as first Speaker in the House of Repre¬ 
sentatives in second century. 

Picture of ex-Speaker Kerr, tribute to him 
as Speaker in the House of Representatives 
during our Centennial year. 

Picture of W. K. Rogers, tribute to him 
as one who rendered special aid in the man¬ 
agement of the safe. 

Picture of Colonel Thomas A. Scott, trib¬ 
ute to him as one who in his office of Rail¬ 
road President facilitated the interests of 
the Centennial Exhibit. 

Picture of Mrs. Elizabeth Thompson, trib¬ 
ute to her as a benevolent and patriotic lady, 
who bought and presented to the Govern¬ 
ment Carpenter’s “Emancipation” picture, 
worth $25,000. 

Autographs on parchment: members of 
Forty-fourth Congress. 


Copy of the United States Centennial Wel¬ 
come, a magazine published during Centen¬ 
nial year, by C. F. Deihm, printed in the 
national colors, and representing the flag of 
our Union. 

Copy of Our Second Century, a paper is¬ 
sued by C. F. Deihm, following the United 
States Centennial Welcome after Centennial 
year. 

The “Blue Book,” containing the names 
of the 80,000 people employed by the Gov¬ 
ernment. 

Card of Express Companies authorizing 
agents to receive and forward the pages of 
autograph albums free. 

Picture of T. S. Verdi, M.D., tribute to 
him as family physician to C. F. Deihm. 

A package placed in the safe and tied 
with red, white, and blue ribbon, contains a 
letter from Mrs. Deihm, in which are her 
expressed wishes regarding the movements 
to be taken upon the opening of the safe in 
1970, a duplicate of which, with the key of 
the safe, was placed in the Smithsonian 
Institute. In the package with this letter 
is also a book written by Mrs. Elizabeth 
Thompson, on Temperance. 

The picture of C. F. Deihm, which was 
enclosed in the safe, was procured, framed, 
and placed in this receptacle without that 
lady’s knowledge or intention that any like¬ 
ness of herself should be thus preserved. 

NOTE.—The photograph being sent in by the 
President on the morning of the closing of the safe. 

It had been C. F. Deihm’s intention to 
enclose in the safe with the other framed 
pictures, those of Chief Justice Waite, Jus¬ 
tice Miller, General Sherman, and Admiral 
Porter. But on the morning of the closing 
of the safe, they were accidentally broken, 
the accident occurring too late to allow ot 
another preparation. 

The safe, with its contents, was closed on 
Washington’s birthday, February 22, 1879, 
in the Hall of Statuary in the Capitol, with 
formal ceremony, and in the presence of an 
illustrious assemblage. 

It is to be regretted that an undertaking 
which has been considered so patriotic a one 
by all those whose opinions are of any worth, 
and, notably by the late President Garfield, 
should have excited the enmity of any person 
who calls himself a citizen of the United 
States. But so it is. After the closing of the 
safe at the Capitol, in February, 1879, a cer¬ 
tain amount of back-stairs influence was 
brought to bear by parties unknown, or it 
might bo more correct to say suspected, to 
procure the removal of the safe from its 
place in Statuary Hall to an inferior location 
in the piazza. The motives of the parties in 
question are known, though they need not be 
published. It is due to President Garfield 
to state that when these motives were ex¬ 
plained to him, ho kindly promised to look 











































197 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


into the matter with a view to the restora¬ 
tion of the safe to the position originally 
assigned it. 

lie did not live to fulfil his promise. But 
perhaps a successor, no less chivalrous, may 
think it well to carry it out. 

The following from the Washington Na¬ 
tional Republican gives the names of those, 
respectively, who placed the various articles 
in the safe : 

THE CENTURY SAFE—PROGRAMME OF THE EX¬ 
ERCISES TO-DAY. 

The Century Safe, which, with its con¬ 
tents, have already been described in the 
National Republican, will be formally closed 
in the llall of Statuary in the Capitol to-day. 
The following additional deposits will be 
made by the persons named prior to the 
closing of the safe : 

President R. B. Hayes, autograph album; 
Mrs. R. B. Hayes, inkstand ; Vice-President 
Wheeler, photograph album; lion. T. W. 
Ferry, one gold pen ; Mrs. Elizabeth Thomp¬ 
son, one gold pen ; Hon. S. J. Randall, copy 
of United States Centennial Welcome; John 
G. Nieolay, Blue Book; T. S. Verdi, M.D., 
copy of Second Century; C. II. Loutrel, of 
New York, autograph of members of Forty- 
fourth Congress; Hon. W. K. Rogers,picture 
of President Hayes; Hon. E. G. Lapham, 
picture of Mrs. Hayes; Hon. R. W. Thomp¬ 
son, picture of Colonel Thomas A. Scott; 
Hon. J. E>. Cameron, picture of ex-President 
Grant; Hon. W. W. Eaton, picture of Mrs. 
U. S. Grant; Hon. II. W. Blair, picture of 
Vice-President Wheeler; Hon. O. Cleveland, 
of New Jersey, picture of Speaker Randall ; 
Hon. R. E. Withers, picture of Washington 
and Lincoln; Hon. N. Booth, picture of 
Hon. T. W. Ferry; Hon. J. A. Garfield, pic¬ 
ture of W. K. Rogers; M. W. Cooper, of New 
York card of express companies authoriz¬ 
ing agents to receive and forward pages of 
autograph albums free ; Hon. I. W. "V 001 - 
hees, picture of T. S. Verdi, M.D.; Hon. F. 
Kernan, picture of ex-Vice-President AY dson 
and ex-Speaker Kerr; Miss Clara, daughter 
of 0. F. Diehm, picture of Mrs. Elizabeth 

Thompson. 

One of the pens was to be placed in the 
safe by Mrs. Bishop Simpson, but illness pre¬ 
vented her from being present. 

It was intended that Secretary Sherman 
should deposit Admiral Porter’s picture, that 
Secretary Evarts should place General Sher¬ 
man’s, Postmaster Key should place Chief 
Justice Waite’s, and Senator Blaine, Justice 

Miller’s. . „ . „ 

Three albums remain outside ol the safe, 

each enclosed in a case of rosewood, ebony 
and plate-glass, the latter forming the top of 
the ease, and the borders being of ebony. 
They are the work of Messrs. Walker, 70- 
Broadway, New York. 


the autograph album contains space for 
100,000 autographs. In this album are in¬ 
scribed the names of the Presidents, Vice- 
Presidents, Speakers of the House of Repre¬ 
sentatives, Cabinet Officers, Judges of the 
Supreme Court, Members of Congress, Gen¬ 
erals in the Army, Admirals in the Navy, 
and Governors of the States, with space 
remaining for the autographs of those newly 
elected or appointed, for which purpose it 
will be opened every two years. 


The following inscription is on the first 
page of the album : “ This book is respectfully 
dedicated to fhe following, who hold the 
most prominent positions in this, the first 
year of our second century: R. B. Hayes, 
President of the United States; S. J. Randall, 
Speaker House of Representatives; Judges 
of the Supreme Court, Cabinet Officers, 
Members of the United States Senate and 
House of Representatives, AA r . K. Rogers, 
Private Secretary to the President, and Col. 
Thomas A. Scott, President Pennsylvania 
Railroad.” These gentlemen have been par¬ 
ticularly kind, and have aided greatly in for¬ 
warding this enterprise. 

The signatures are to be recorded with 
the pens used during 1876-77, which will he 
found with the silver inkstand in the safe. 
At the close of the Exhibition the album; 
pens, and inkstand are to be returned to the 
National Capitol and again be placed in the 
safe. 




Another album is for the photographs of 
the Presidents and Vice-Presidents only, to 
be opened once in four years, that the photo¬ 
graphs of those newly elected may he in¬ 
serted. 

In the third album are the photographs 
of the Judges of the Supreme Court, Cabinet 
Officers in the Army and Navy, and Senators 
and Representatives. 

Every two years the photographs of four 
of the most prominent officers from the army, 
and the same number from the navy, will he 
inserted. Also the photographs of two Sena¬ 
tors and two Representatives from the North, 
South, East, and West, every two years, will ! 
be chosen and placed in the album. No dis¬ 
tinction will be made in the election ol Sen¬ 
ators and Representatives beyond that of 
aoo and service. Those oldest in years and 
public office will be chosen. 

These albums are of Russian leather, ele¬ 
gant in design and finish. 

The photograph albums are the work of 
\\ T . W. Harding, proprietor of The Inquirer, 

Philadelphia. ! 

The autograph albums are the work of 
Francis & Loutrel, of New York. 

The Century Safe, which (with its accom¬ 
panying albums) was the only article taken 
into the Capitol from our Centennial Ex¬ 
hibit, will be opened on tho Fourth day of 
July, 1976, at our second International Ex¬ 
position. 


REASONS FOR ITS DESIGNS. 

Principally that the names most honored 
in our land may by this means be handed 
down to posterity. 

Secondly, that there might be a contribu¬ 
tion to our Centenial Exhibit valuable as a 
relic, yet original to the Old World as well 
as to the New World. 

Thirdly, that something bearing data 
might commemorate the birth of George 
Washington, who, though “first in war, 
first in peace, and first in the hearts of 
his countrymen,” has not been first to 
RECEIVE A PUBLIC MONUMENT. 

Apart from every phase of this under¬ 
taking, it has been the special desire of its 
originator to evince the unabated loyalty of 
our compatriots to our glorious first Presi¬ 
dent of a century ago. A long-unfinished 
national monument to the memory of George 
Washington, though a promised honor to our 
first President, is, in its tardy development, 
a disgrace to a republic liberated by him. 
The following gives a description of the 
closing of the safe in honor of his memory : 

TO BE FINALLY CLOSED ON SATURDAY. 

The celebration of AYashington’s Birthday 
at the Capitol at AVashington will be made 
conspicuous this year, by the introduction of 
a novel and interesting feature. On that day 
President Ilaycs, Vice-President AVheeler, 
and the Cabinet, and Bishop Simpson, with 
simple ceremony, and in the presence of a 
throng of prominent citizens, will close thy 
Century Safe, and consign to the custody of 
Congress the Centennial albums, which Airs. 
C. F. Deihm, an enterprising and patriotic 
lady of New York, has prepared as memen¬ 
tos of the great epoch which is marked by 
the ending of the first and the beginning ot 
the second century of our republic’s history. 
These albums are filled with autographs and 
photographs of the most distinguished states¬ 
men, jurists, legislators, orators, clergymen, 
poets, historians, scientists, and merchants. 
They are enriched by President Grant and 
his Cabinet, the Judges of the Supreme Court 
and their eminent judges and lawyers, the 
Governors of all the States and Territories 
(with the State seals), Ministers Plenipoten¬ 
tiary, Consuls, Senators, and Representa¬ 
tives, and a brilliant array ot names n hicli 
shed lustre on our army and navy, our col¬ 
leges and churches, our professions, our 
literature, our commerce, and the numerous 
enterprises that have contributed to this 
nation’s rapid and marvellous growth. 

Among these albums is one devoted ex¬ 
clusively to tho autographs of the Presi¬ 
dents, Vice-Presidents, Speakers ot the 
House of Representatives, Cabinet Othieis, 
Judges of tho Supreme Court, Members ot 
Congress, Generals in the Army, Admirals 
in the Navy, and Governors of the States 













198 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


during the period from 1876 to 1976, and it 
is to be opened only once in two years for 
the autographs of those newly elected or 
appointed. 

There is an album for the photographs of 
the Presidents and Vice-Presidents only, to 
be opened once in four years. Another 
photograph album will contain portraits of 
the Judges of the Supreme Court, Cabinet 
Officers, Speakers of the House, Chief Officers 
in the Army and Navy, and Senators and 
Representatives. Four officers—of course 
the highest in command—will be taken from 
the army, and four from the navy, every 
two years. Every two years two Senators 
and two Representatives from the North, 
two from the South, two from the East, and 
two from the West,-will have their photo¬ 
graphs, in imperial, with names attached, 
inserted in the albums. 

These names will represent the two great 
political parties of the country, Republican 
and Democratic, or whatever they may be 
called in the future. There will be no in¬ 
vidious distinctions in selecting the names of 
Senators and Representatives. The oldest 
in years and the oldest in the public service 
will be chosen. 

These albums, which are elegantly bound, 
were made by Messrs. Francis & Loutrel, 45 
Maiden Lane, New York, and are fine speci¬ 
mens of America’s most artistic workman¬ 
ship. They will be preserved in handsome 
cases of rosewood, ebony, and glass, from the 
manufactory of Messrs. Walker, 702 Broad¬ 
way, New York, and possess the happy com¬ 
bination of durability and beauty. 

The Century Safe deserves more than a 
passing notice. It is the only article taken 
to the Capitol from the Centennial Exhibi¬ 
tion, where it attracted so much attention, 
and now stands in the rotunda, surrounded 
by the statues of the fathers of the republic, 
who appear like guardian angels to keep 
watch and ward over it. The safe will be 
locked on the 22d of February, with appro¬ 
priate ceremony, and remain closed for one 
hundred years. It contains the large albums, 
with the photographs and autographs of all 
the prominent and distinguished citizens in 
the United States, and under each signature 
is reserved a line, on which one hundred 
years hence may be inscribed the autograph 
of the nearest descendant who bears the 
same name. 

The autograph album is made of sheets 
that have been sent to every State in the 
Union for the signatures of its distinguished 
men, which have been returned and bound 
in the form described. It is presumed that 
this safe will be opened by a jubilant nation 
on the Fourth of July, 1976, and with 
greater interest than we can possibly im¬ 
agine now. 

Mrs. Dcibm is entitled to the credit of 
originating a novel and interesting national 


enterprise, and her perseverance and inde¬ 
fatigable efforts in executing her plans will 
be appreciated more in the future than fhey 
can be to-day. It is to be hoped that one 
hundred }’ears hence God will raise up in 
our midst another, who, with equal zeal and 
patriotism, will take up the work that she 
lays down, and endeavor to perpetuate and 
hand down to the coming ages, not only the 
words and deeds, but the forms and features 
of America’s illustrious men. 

Her patriotism is also shown in the pub¬ 
lication of her weekly family paper called 
Our Second Century , at No. 27 Union Square, 
New York,—a paper which is the organ of 
no political party or platform, but which 
quietly instils the love of country, law, order, 
and home. It notes the progress we are 
making as a nation, and seeks to furnish 
pure, instructive, and entertaining reading 
for the households of our land. It is seldom 
a paper can boast of a list of subscribers that 
includes so many of our eminent citizens and 
distinguished men in all parts of the country. 

In 1876 Mrs. Deihm published a magazine 
printed in the national colors,—red, white, 
and blue,—to represent the flag of our Union, 
and was called The United States Centennial 
Welcome. The ten numbers have been bound 
in one volume, and will be deposited in the 
safe. It is her wish that a similar magazine 
be printed in 1976, and this wish will be ex¬ 
pressed in a note, which will be enclosed 
with the plates on which the first Centennial 
Welcome was printed. It is not expected 
that Mrs. Deihm will ever reap the reward 
of her patriotic labors. They will be enjoyed 
when she and we have passed away: but it 
is gratifying to know that the future genera¬ 
tion has such a valuable gift in store for 
them. We congratulate her upon the suc¬ 
cess of her enterprise, and wish both her and 
Our Second Century the success they so richly 
deserve.— The National Republican, Wash¬ 
ington, February 18, 1879. 


INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION, 187G. 

United States Centennial Commission, 
Philadelphia, March 27, 1876. 

BUREAU OF ADMINISTRATION. 

ART. 

Mrs. Charles F. Deihm : 

Dear Madame ,—You have space allotted 
to you for your Centennial Autograph Al¬ 
bums, and the safe for containing them, in 
the annex to Memorial Hall, unless here¬ 
after space can bo provided in Memorial 
Hall itself. 

Tho safe and necessary table room is un¬ 
derstood to occupy about thirty-eight square 
feet, more or less. 

Very respectfully, 

John Sartain, 

Chief of Art Bureau. 


INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION, 1870. 

United States Centennial Commission, 
Philadelphia. 

BUREAU OF ART. 

PERMIT FOR SPACE. 

Application No . 

Philadelphia, May 6, 1876. 
Mrs. C. F. Deihm, 27 Union Square, N.Y.: 

You have been allotted floor-space in 
Memorial Hall, .square feet under stair¬ 

way, near Southwest Pavilion, subject to 
approval by the Committee. 

Very respectfully, 

John Sartain, 

Chief of Art Bureau. 


Gentlemen of the U. S. Centennial Exhibition: 

We, the undersigned, do most earnestly 
commend Mrs. Chas. F. Deihm and her en¬ 
terprise to your kind consideration. 

She has concentrated all her powers and 
energy upon it—and has had a space allotted 
to her in Memorial Hall—and knowing her, 
as we do, to be a lady worthy of all confi¬ 
dence, and the widow of one who laid down 
his life for our country, and was herself 
largely engaged in the service of the govern¬ 
ment during the war, giving employment to 
hundreds of soldiers’ widows and orphans, 
we feel more assured that when all these 
circumstances are understood, the gentle- 
men of the Centennial Exhibition will gladly 
grant all the privileges that may be neces¬ 
sary for her interesting enterprise. 

This we not only entreat for a worthy 
lady, but as a personal favor to ourselves. 

T. W. Ferry. 

John A. Logan. 

L. M. Morrill. 

A. II. Cragin. 

James K. Kelly. 

Wm. W. Eaton. 

C. J. Jones. 

Samuel Bell Maxey. 

A. S. Merriman. 

M. C. Hamilton. 

Francis Kernan. 

George W. Wright. 

George Goldthwaite. 

D. M. Key. 

F. T. Freylinghuysen. 

Jim D. Howe. 

B. Wadleigh. 

T. C. MeCrcery. 

Newton Booth. 

Henry Cooper. 

J. L. Alcorn. 

II. B. Anthony. 

John II. Mitchell. 

I. S. Morrill. 

W. B. Allison. 

II. L. Dawes. 












PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOIJI 


INAL. 


199 


R. E. Withers. 

F. M. Cockrell. 

A. R. Capeston. 

H. Haml in. 

James M. Kearney. 

John J. Patterson. 

B. II. Bruce. 

Louis Y. Bogy. 

Simon Cameron. 

T. S. Paddock. 

S. W. Dorsey. 

George E. Spencer. 

P. M. Norton. 

O. P. Morton. 

Anspach Stanton. 

G. A. Nichols. 

James L. Claghorn. 

Milton Layton, Cincinnati, O. 

Allen Potter, Kalamazoo, 4th District, 
Mich. 

M. S. Southard, Zanesville, O. 

W. M. Springer, Ill. 

J. Proctor Knott. 

S. S. Cox, NeAv York City. 

J. G. Blaine. 

Wm. M. Robbins, N. C. 

II. W. Blair, N. II. 

Chas. P. Thompson, Mass. 

John Y. Wait, Conn. 

C. C. B. Walker, Corning, N. Y. 

Mark II. Dunnell, Minn. 

W. W. Warren, Mass. 

J. M. Thornburgh, Tenn. 

James Phelps, Conn. 

L. AY. Ballou, R. I. 

J. I. Finley, Florida. 

Casey Young, Memphis, Tenn. 

Jo. C. S. Blackburn, Versailles, Ky. 

J. O. C. Atkins, Paris, Tenn. 

John L. Yaux, Gallipolis, Ohio. 

A. O. Rice, Ottawa, Ohio. 

J. P. Cowan, Ashland, Ohio. 

G. John Ellis, New Orleans, La. 
AVilliam AYalsh, Cumberland, Md. 
Philip F. Thomas, Easton, Md. 
Samuel J. Randall, Pa. 

Henry Waldon, Hillside, Mich. 

B. AY. Wallis, Jersey City, N. J. 

J. C. Bedle. 

James Gospill. 

Benj. B. Sherman. 


Washington, D. C., January 31, 18iG. 

AVe cheerfully recommend to the hospi¬ 
tality of all citizens of the Union Mrs. ( has. 
F. Deihm and her Centennial Autograph and 
Photograph Albums (which is her own origi¬ 
nal idea), and trust that her reception m 
your city may bo as cordial and general as 

it has been here. 

This album now contains the names of the 
persons who hold the highest positions our 
Government can bestow, and we trust that 


thoy may be followed by the names of those 
who are as illustrious in the world of Science, ' 
Literature, and Art, as the first who are in 
this great political world. 

AVe should ask that some good place may J 
be provided for the album, where it may be 
on exhibition during Mrs. Doihm’s stay in 
your city. 

May its pages be filled with the names of 
those who are proud to sign themselves 
American citizens during this Centennial 
year. 

M. R. AVaite, Chief Justice of United 


May its record of grand achievements and 
noble administrators ever redound to the 
credit of our brave, hard-working, honored 
forefathers. 


SAFES. 

One day two Greeks formed a joint stock 
company in a Turkish city. They hired a 
shop in one of the narrow streets, opposite 
to a bank, and pretended to be doing a busi¬ 
ness in clothes. A fortnight afterwards, the 
banker, on entering his premises in the morn- 


States. 

Samuel J. Miller, Justice Supreme 
Court of the United States. 

T. AY. Ferry, Vice-President of the 
United States. 

J. D. Bedle, Governor of New Jersey. 


This will introduce to my friends Mrs. 
Charles F. Deihm, who is known to me as a 
worthy lady who is engaged in preparing a 
Century Album, and who is also publishing 
the Second Century. I recommend her to the 
most favorable consideration of those upon 
whom she may call. 

M. Simpson, Bishop M. E. Church. 

AY. A. AVheeler, Vice-President of the 
United States. 

R. B. Hayes, President of the United 
States. 

Samuel J. Randall, Speaker of the 
House. 

AY. K. Rogers, Private Secretary. 


AVith the approval of the above-mentioned 
honored and prominent gentlemen, the Cen¬ 
tury Safe certainly rests under a worthy 
benediction. Its mission is obvious. It 
suggests with its mention its patriotic aim. 
This country with its hard-earned freedom, 
its past rapid growth, and its future pros¬ 
pects of development, will, we believe, never 
require incentives towards enthusiastic love 
and interest in its welfare, nevertheless it 
will keep alive and glowing the ember of 
patriotism in the next century, when it is 
evident that we in this, remembered our 
sturdy forefathers, and approved the same 
spirit and progress prevailing at the present 
day. All honor, peace, and happiness to 
those who act as guardians to our country 
to-day—may they be led to only such ad¬ 
ministration as will further the real welfare 
of our people, and approve only those insti¬ 
tutions which promise ultimate good in our 
land—God bless and preserve our republic. 


ing, found he bad been robbed. He exam¬ 
ined the place, and convinced himself that 
gates and doors were fastened as usual, and 
windows and shutters had not been touched. 
Where had the thieves effected their en¬ 
trance? They had sawed a hole through 
the floor. He sent for detectives, who ex¬ 
amined the floor, descended through the 
hole, came to a tunnel, and, following the 
tunnel, issued into the clothes-shop of the 
two Greeks. I need not mention that the 
Greeks had disappeared, having used their 
store only as a pretext for tunnelling over 
into the banking establishment. All that 
was discovered of the thieves was a short 
note, in the Greek language, saying, with 
cool effrontery,—“ My dear friends, I advise 
you to be sharp, and may Gold help you. 
Yours faithfully, Arclielaos.” The detec¬ 
tives were anxious to find what had been 
done to the safe. It was found that an at¬ 
tempt had been made to pick the lock, but 
this attempt had been unsuccessful. A wedge 
was also discovered ; but the thieves had 
been baffled in its use. The plates of the 
door were so dovetailed and fitting that the 
instrument proved perfectly powerless. A 
sledge hammer was further found, but the 
body of the safe being constructed of alter¬ 
nate plates of welded iron and steel, the safe 
had successfully withstood the blows of the 
sledge-hammer. The thieves were baffled at 
all points. Even dynamite they had found 
it impossible to use. there being no crevice 
in the safe wherein to apply the terrible ex¬ 
plosive. AYhilc all the boxes and closets of 
the bank had been rifled, the safe remained 
intact. 

It need hardly be said that the safe in 
question was of American construction. In 
no part of the world are safes obtainable 
which bear a higher reputation than the 
American safes, both as regards security 
and excellence of design; and among the 
manufacturers who have contributed to 
bring our safes to so great a degree ot per¬ 
fection, few deserve more credit than the 
Marvin Sale and Scale Co. and the Hall 
Safe and Lock Co., New York; Alessrs. 
Herring & Co., Broadway, Fiew York; A al- 
entine & Butler Safe and Lock Co.. Broad¬ 
way, New York. 


















200 


PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD’S MEMORIAL JOURNAL. 


“OUR SECOND CENTURY.” 

PUBLISHED BY C. F. DEIHM, 
OFFICE—27 UNION SQUARE, NEW YORK, 

Established in March, 1877, is published at 
27 Union Square, New York. It is a weekly 
family paper, circulating among the most 
influential families in the United States. Its 
purpose is to present to the public miscel¬ 
laneous literature of an instructive and moral 
order, together with brief mention of the 
current events of the times, literary notices 
and reviews, and dramatic and fashion notes. 
A special column is devoted to woman 
and her interest. Our Second Century es¬ 
pouses no political party, but infuses into 
its pages a patriotic, progressive spirit, cal¬ 
culated to educate to lofty aims and pur¬ 
poses, while its contributors are among the 
best that the country affords. The following 
extracts from Our Second Century and The 
United States Centennial Welcome convey a 
correct impression of these periodicals : 

“ The United States Centennial Welcome 
was issued and circulated during our Cen¬ 
tennial year. It was printed in the na¬ 
tional colors, with a heading peculiarly em¬ 
blematic of its purposes and contents. It 
consisted of the flag of our Union, the old 
‘pine-tree’ shilling, and the proverbial pen 
and sword, with the title in red, white, and 
blue tints. At the solicitation of numerous 
friends and patrons, whose interest and ad¬ 
miration for this journal was manifested at 
our International Exposition, where it was 
regarded as one of the most patriotic ex¬ 
hibits, its editor, C. E. Deihm, has decided 
to issue this magazine once in every live 
years.” 

“ The second issue of this novel and histori¬ 
cal journal will appear this year merged 
in Our Second Century; or, Deihm's Safe 
Journal, and in its original design and color¬ 
ing,—it being issued three times a year in 
black print. Its circulation throughout the 
country will be widely extensive among the 
most select and influential families. Its ad¬ 
vertisements are from the largest business 
firms throughout the United States. Its lit¬ 
erature will possess a lofty tone of moral 
thought and genuine vigorous feeling, to¬ 
gether with patriotic interest in the nation 
in its past and present existence. 

“Not only will a fund of incidents in con¬ 
nection with the early days of our republic 
be recorded, but some of the popular senti¬ 
ments of the day, thus making Deihm’s 
Safe Journal a periodical interesting a hun¬ 
dred years hence, containing, as it will, what 
will then be interestingly old. As a record 
of business houses alone (its advertising mer- | 
its being so notable), it will be a curiosity 
of unique value. Its bold, free type and 
novel coloring, together with its attractive 
and curious title-page, must render it a 
special and noticeable means of advertising. 


The observer’s attention is at once claimed, 
and the advertisements stand out to prom¬ 
inent advantage.” 

Too much at the present day cannot be 
done to cultivate interest in our country as 
a country. What is most for the people’s 
weal and our country’s prosperity, should be 
the question of the age. This spirit we shall 
endeavor to present in the issue of Deihm’s 
Safe Journal, and this spirit, we trust, will 
linger in the hearts of its readers. 

“ To whom it may concern : We have 
taken for five years (it now being our sixth 
year) C. F. Deihm’s paper, Our Second Cen¬ 
tury, or Deihm's Safe Journal, and have never 
missed a copy, and we have no hesitation in 
saying it is one of the best family papers 
published in this city. 

“Benjamin B. Sherman, President 
Mechanics’ National Bank. 

“ IIon. Tiiurlow Weed. 

“ IIon. Peter Cooper.” 

11 Philadelphia. 

“ I have taken C. F. Deihm’s paper, en¬ 
titled Our Second Century, ever since its pub¬ 
lication, now five years. As a family paper 
it is one of the best published; it contains a 
varied amount of reading matter, highly 
interesting and entertaining. As such I 
consider it a first-class advertising medium, its 
circulation being among our first families. 

“M. IIall Stanton.” 

“Our Second Century we consider a valu¬ 
able paper, and worthy the patronage of 
banks and bankers for advertising dividends 
and other notices. 

“ Benjamin B. Sherman. 

“John 1a. Kierman. 

“ Willam A. Camp, Manager Clear¬ 
ing House, New York.” 

Col. Thomas A. Scott, President Penn¬ 
sylvania Railroad, says, “ I have taken Our 
Second Century for the past five years, and 
think it a good paper.” 

“This will introduce to my friends Mrs. 
Charles F. Deihm, who is known to me as a 
worthy lady, who was engaged in preparing 
the Century Safe and Albums, and w 7 ho is 
now publishing Our Second Century, a very 
interesting family paper. We commend her 
to the most favorable consideration of those 
upon whom she may call. 

“M. Simpson, 

Bishop M. F. Church. 

“ R. B. IIayes, President of the 
United States. 

“ W. A. Wheeler, Vice-President 
of the United States. 

“ Samuel J. Randall, 

Speaker of the House. 

“W. K. Rogers, 

Private Secretary.” 


“ This will introduce Mrs. Charles F. 
Deihm, who is known to us as a most excel¬ 
lent and worthy lady, and entitled to warm 
consideration and confidence. 

“ Col. A. L. Snowden, 

Postmaster at Philadelphia.” 

“ I concur in the views expressed by the 
Postmaster at Philadelphia. 

“ Tiios. L. James, Postmaster at 
New York City.” 

“ I have been a subscriber to Our Second 
Century for some years past, and have read 
with much interest and pleasure each edition 
published. It is always welcome in my 
family, and I cheerfully and cordially rec¬ 
ommend it as a most excellent paper, and is 
well and carefully managed. 

“ J. W. McLeer, Postmaster at 
Brooklyn.” 

“ We have taken the paper and consider it 
a good family paper, and will give it our 
advertisements. 

“ Sharpless & Sons, 

Philadelphia. 

“James L. Claghorn, 

Philadelphia. 

“ Colonel Cyrus H. Loutrel, 
Stationer, 45 Maiden Lane, N. Y. 

“Captain D. A. Griffith, United 
States Army, Fort Shaw, M. T. 

“ Russel C. Clapp, Secretary Peo¬ 
ple’s Line to Albany. 

“James Gopsill, ex-Mayor of Jer¬ 
sey City.” 

“It is seldom a paper can boast of a list 
of subscribers that includes as many of our 
eminent citizens and distinguished men in 
all parts of the country.”— Washington Na¬ 
tional Republican. 

“ Having subscribed to, and carefully read, 
Our Second Century for several years, I cor¬ 
dially recommend the same to the public as 
a good medium of advertising, containing 
sound matter of great interest. 

“ Morris Franklin, President of 
the New York Life Insurance 
Company.” 

“ This is the sixth year of my subscription 
to Our Second Century. I am glad of the 
opportunity to say I believe it one of the 
best family papers in the city. I have 
known the publisher for the past fourteen 
years. Mrs. C. F. Deihm, the publisher and 
proprietor, is in every way worthy of patron¬ 
age, and this will serve to recommend her to 
my friends. 

“ M. W. Cooper, 

346 Broadway, 

“George W. Quintard, President 
Charleston Steamer Lino.” 





















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